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The 

Pleasures 

Of the World 




By John Preston 



The 

Pleasures 

Of the World 

A Religious Comedy in Three Acts 
By John Preston 




HERALD PUBLISHING HOUSE 
Lamoni, Iowa 



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^^ 






Copyright, 1915 
BY THE AUTHOR 
All rights reserved 



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*%j^ 



©ao 42183 



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For Right 

To Produce This Play 

Application Must Be Made 

To 

THE HERALD PUBLISHING HOUSE 
Lamoni, Iowa 



CHARACTERS 

Thomas Hubbel Father of a family 

Mrs. Hubbel His wife 

Billy Hubbel Their younger son 

Ruth Hubbel Their daughter 

Bob Vale Her fiance 

Amos Leader A friend of Hubbel's 

Miss F. Crane A friend of Leader's 

Joe Hubbel Hubbel's elder son 

Miriam Farnham A friend of Ruth's 

Tom Waring A friend of Joe's 

Lillian Hope A friend of Tom's 

Mrs. Vale Bob's widowed mother 



ACT ONE 

(Place. An American town. Time. Autumn of 1914. 

Scene. Living room of the Hubbels' home. Evening. A 
settee center L; a small reading-table center R, on either side 
of which there is an easy chair. Bookcase C back, on either 
side of which are chairs. Chairs in different places. Exit on 
R, leading to another room, and exit L, leading to the hall. 
Other appurtenances of modern living room of average dwell- 
ing. Phone in evidence. 

Hubbel and wife sit at reading table, she knitting, he with 
elbow on his open Bible. 

The sound of merry voices, of piano and vocal music comes 
from R, through open door.) 

Hubbel. (Looking up from his Bible) Why do they keep singing those 
disgusting popular songs! It's getting on my nerves. 

Mrs, H. (Soothingly) We were young ourselves once, Thomas. 

Hubbel. (Impatiently) Young, but not foolish. We never sang such 
trash as that. Listen: (A chorus is faintly heard singing re- 
frain of "/ want to he in Dixie") I want to be, I want to be — 
a lot of sense there is to that! We shouldn't allow it in our 
house. 

Mrs. H. As far as I'm concerned, Thomas, I like to see them enjoying 
themselves. 

Hubbel. But they're not. They only think they are. The tendency 
of the age is toward frivolity. All this noise and I-want-to-be- 
ing isn't enjoyment at all. I don't believe in it, and I — (rising) 
— I don't like to see it in my house. 

Mrs. H. (Pulling him down again gently) Well, well, don't get ex- 
cited. Read your Bible and forget about it. 

Hubbel. (Sitting down) Humph! A nice philosophy. Read my Bible 
and forget about it. That's what the world's doing: reading 
religion with its lips and winking at sin. That's what's sending 
the world to hell. 

'Mrs. H. (Smiling) Really, I'm surprised at you. What's the matter 
with you to-night? Can't the children have a harmless little 
party without upsetting you like this? 

Hubbel. But is it harmless? To me it seems very much the other 
way. Satan always begins his work gently. If he showed us 
hell-fire all at once we'd get frightened. No, no; he's too wise 
for that. He starts us in in the kindergarten. 

5 



Mrs. H. One would think these young people were perfect imps, to 
hear you talk 

HuBBEL. To hear them holler, you mean. 

Mrs. H, I love to hear their noise. It takes me back to childhood and 
youth. 

HUBBEL. That's all bosh, Mary. You sang hymns in your day and 
mine, as everybody ought to now. And the men didn't have to 
powder their faces to get a girl, either, — and perfume their 
handkerchiefs. 

Mrs. H. No; usually the perfume of whisky was strong enough. 

HuBBEL. (Getting excited) You know as well as you're alive that you 
never saw me the worse of liquor. What's the use of talking 
like that? 

Mrs. H. I never said so. I merely referred to the perfume — which 
might have come from only a drink or two. The men in those 
days thought nothing of drinking. A dance was not complete 
without it. 

HUBBEL. Well, even so, they were better than the fops of to-day. And 
the liquor they drank wasn't poison, like it is to-day. But I'm 
not standing up for drink. I never did like it. But there are 
other things as bad. What about these moving pictures that 
they're going crazy about? Don't they make them drunk? 
"Drunken but not with wine." Folks nowadays are drunk 
with pleasure, that's what's the matter. 

(Ruth's voice is heard indistinctly. She is singing one of the 
higher type of modern songs. Piano accompaniment.) 

Mrs. H. Listen. That's Ruth. [Pause) Sweet, isn't it? 

HuBBEL. Her voice is sweet, if that's what you mean. But it's not 
a song I care about. What have they got against the sacred 
music? 

Mrs. H. Nothing. Only their hearts are gay to-night and they are 
giving themselves up to gladness. 

HuBBEL. Yes, giving themselves up; surrendering to the things of the 
world. We should surrender ourselves only to Christ. 

Mrs. H. Thomas, you are narrow in your interpretations. It does 
harm. You have never been sufficiently lenient with our chil- 
dren. You preach to them too much. 

HjUBBEL. (Exasperated) That sounds very ill coming from you. In- 
stead of helping me apply the word of God in our home you 
have encouraged the free and easy ways of unrighteousness. 

Mrs. H. Thomas! 

HuBBEL. Ay, it is so. You have ever dampened my counsel. Only by 

6 



mighty prayer have I kept to the narrow way, with you pulling 
me by the elbow. 

Mrs. H. (Laughing somewhat hysterically) Dear, dear! I can't help 
laughing at you sometimes. The older you get the worse you 
get. And yet you're not a bad old rascal. If everyone knew 
you as I do, Thomas, they would understand your peculiar 
ways, and forgive you everything. But even to me you seem 
hopeless at times. To-night, for instance, you are all out of 
gear. Go 'way off to bed and leave me to take care of the 
children. 

HuBBEL. Indeed I'll not. Nor will I allow you to laugh off the mat- 
ter like this. I firmly believe that the spirit of the world is 
entering this family, and I am going to earnestly seek divine 
guidance concerning it. 

Mrs. H. Why not seek the guidance of reason? 

HuBBEL. There you go again. You are always talking reason to me. 
One would think, Mary, that I was unbalanced. 

Mrs. H. You are. 

(Enter Billy, a boy of 14; short pants. The creak of a door 
attracts Hubbel's attention. Billy has entered L and is making 
gestures to his mother. Hubbel's back is to him, but he turns 
around and faces the son). 

HuBBEL. William, what are you doing out this time of night? 

Billy. It's only nine o'clock. 

HUBBEL. I asked you a question, sir. 

Billy. I've been to the picture show. 

HUBBEL. (Rising) To the picture show? You stand there and look 
your father in the eye, like a lion, and tell him that? (Ad- 
vancing toivard him) It's a sound thrashing you need, my 
young man. {Stands in front of him) Where did you get the 
money? 

Billy. I earned it. 

HuBBEL. Where? 

Billy. Cutting grass for Mrs. Vale. 

HuBBEL. (Turning to his wife. — Meanwhile Billy sits down on chair 
to L of bookcase and looks calmly up at his father, as though 
studying him) This is your free-thinking friend. {To Billy) 
And who gave you the permission? 

Billy. I saw it was a decent play and so I wasn't afraid to go in. 

HuBBEL. (Taking him by the ear, not roughly) And when did you 
learn to tell the difference between decent plays and indecent 
ones? Don't you know that they are all bad? 

7 



Mrs. 



Billy. Bob Vale doesn't think so, dad. 

HuBBEL. Bob Vale! Some more of that free-thinking camp. What 
business has he preaching doctrines like this? Are you going 
to take his word against your father's and mother's? 

Billy. But mother isn't (Hesitates) 

HuBBEL. Isn't what? 

{Billy refuses to speak further.) 
Mrs. H. Run off to bed, dear, and I'll explain to your father. 
HuBBEL. No, young man, you'll stay right here — unless your mother's 
entirely to blame. 

H. Nobody is to blame. But if there's any responsibility, it's 
mine. I told him he might go occasionally, so long as he used 
his judgment, and related the picture-stories to me after seeing 
them. 

HUBBEL. (Letting Billy go, comes over toward his wife and sits down, 
disgusted. Billy stands in background) A nice state of affairs 
in a Christian home. This is a house divided against itself. 
The Word says such a house can not stand. 

Mrs. H. Putting down her knitting, leans over toward him) Thomas, 
dear, let us be reasonable. {He makes as if to interrupt) Now 
don't interrupt me. I want to tell you my views on this subject. 
{To Billy) You'd better go to bed, dear. 

Billy. Do I have to — for a few minutes? 

Mrs. H. Well, I suppose you may stay up a little while — but not long. 
Your books are in the case there. 

(Billy takes a book out of bookcase and pretends to read. In 
reality he is listening to his parents' conversation). 
(To Hubbel, who looks extremely bored) You and I and all 
other aging people must realize that we are living in a progres- 
sive age. The world is moving so fast we can scarcely keep 
up with it. Do you remember now, in our youth, our parents 
and grandparents considered many things which we now put 
into daily use, inventions of the devil? Do you remember how 
they condemned books which are now in the schools? 

Hubbel. Ay, and well they did so. The whole world has become 
frivolous. 

Mrs. H. That's only your view of the matter. Some of the rest of 
us think the world is getting better. The process may be slow, 
but it is sure. And if the sticklers for old ideals would shake 
off their prejudices, progress would be much more rapid. Take 
this picture play business, for instance. Films are shown that 
every boy and girl should see; many of them. That's why I 
told Willie he might go occasionally. I have enough confidence 
in him to believe that he will only select those pictures which 



are worth seeing; or if he does happen to see a rough one, to 
despise its roughness and observe the contrast between good 
and bad. I don't believe in treating children as though they 
were idiots. Let them put into practice the things we have 
taught them. If they don't exercise their souls around home, 
they'll have to do so away from home, among unsympathetic 
surroundings; and then when they make mistakes, as we all 
must in learning how to live, those mistakes may prove disas- 
trous. 

HUBBEL. You are very glib, Mary, but not convincing. The older we 
get the more do we seem to differ. 

Mrs. H. We always did differ on some things, Thomas. 

HuBBEL. Yes, and you have always been in the wrong. 

Mrs. H. Exactly. This has been your attitude. And it is an attitude 
which I have long feared must result in sorrow to our family. 

HUBBEL. It is not my judgment, but the judgment of the Word. Any- 
one who upholds the pleasures of Mammon must be in the 
wrong. 

Mrs. H. (Sighing) Oh, well, I suppose there is no altering your 
interpretations of right and wrong. Words have no effect on 
you. Some day, perhaps, deeds will. 

( Enter Ruth, R) 

Billy. (Looking up from his book) Hello, Ruth. Is Bob here? 

Ruth. (Crossing toward her mother) Yes, — why? 

Billy. Tell him I want to see him before they send me to bed. 

HuBBEL. (Turning toward son) What do you want with Robert 
Vale, sir? 

Ruth. (Laughingly) Why papa, you speak of him as though he were 
a great man, — or a criminal. 

Hubbel. He's much nearer the latter than the former, I'm thinking. 
I don't like him; for two pins I'd go in there and ask him to 
leave. Who invited him here? 

Mrs. H. I did. 

Hubbel. Humph! {To Billy) You haven't answered my question 
yet, sir. 

Billy. Well dad, 

Hubbel. (Interrupting) William, I don't like this dadding. I am 
your father. "Dad" sounds like a jumping insect of some kind. 

Billy. Well, father, I had some business with Bob and missed him; 
so I think I'd better see him now. 

Hubbel. Go off to bed with you. The likes of you talking business! 

9 



Billy. All right, sir. 

(Hubbel looks sharp at the word "sir," which he has himself 
been using on the son.) 

But I must kiss mother good-night first. (Crosses to her) 
Good-night, mommy. (Kisses her) . 

Mrs. H. Good-night, dear. 

Billy. (In a loud whisper) Tell Bob I can do that grass again next 
week at the same figure. 

Ruth. (Overhears. Laughingly) Willie, you're terrible. 

Billy. (Crossing to exit L) Good-night, dad — (Quickly correcting 
himself) — father. (Exit) 

Hubbel. (Shortly) Good-night. 

Ruth. Mamma, can we have this room a while now until lunch is 
ready? It will only be a few minutes. 

Mrs. H. Certainly. Your father and I will go to the kitchen. 

Hubbel. (Scowling) Ruth, why don't you all sing a hymn occa- 
sionally instead of those repulsive songs — I-want-to-be, I want- 
to-be? 

Ruth. (Roguishly) When we're old we will, papa. 

Hubbel. (Ponderously) You should serve the Lord in your youth. 

Mrs. H. (Rising) Come, Thomas, let's leave them alone a while. 

Hubbel. (Rising reluctantly) I'll be glad when it's over. Glad when 
this whole foolish generation is over, in fact. It is pleasure- 
mad. (Talking as he walks toward R with wife) One of these 
days the Almighty will raise his hand and smite us all and — 
(Exit, still talking) 

(Exeunt Mrs. H. and Hubbel) 

Ruth. (Crosses R and calls some one from other room) Bob! 

(Enter Bob Vale, a moment later) 

I want you to help me move this table (Pointing to one at which 
Mr. and Mrs. H. have been sitting) and arrange the chairs. 

Bob. (Crossing to table) You bet you. 

(Each takes a side of the little table and they carry it to center 
of stage, near bookcase. There is a silence between them as he 
stands looking at her across the table) . 

My, but you look great to-night. 

Ruth. (Embarrassedly) That isn't what I asked you in here for. 

Bob. (Laughs and seizes her hand) Now, Ruth, be truthful. Wasn't 
it? 

Ruth. (With feminine dignity) You flatter yourself. 

10 



Bob. (Appearing to believe her) Maybe I do. (Slowly releases her 
hand and begins arranging the chairs) 

Ruth. (Looking at his back regretfully) Oh, Bob, {In honied tones) 
will you please open this drawer for me? 

Bob. (Opening drawer of bookcase) I flatter myself. I kid myself. 

Ruth. (Ignoring his words) I don't know what else to do but show 
them these picture postals. 

Bob. So long as the pictures don't move, it will be all right. 

Ruth. (Laughingly) So you've heard about the prejudice against 
movies around here, have you? Who betrayed the family 
secret? 

Bob. Billy. 

Ruth. The young scamp. 

Bob. He's no such thing. Billy and I are going to be chums some day. 
Any kid who can size up his dad like that lad can, is no fool. 

Ruth. Size up his dad? 

Bob. Yes. We haven't all got pluck or honesty enough to criticize 
our own near relatives. To do it honestly and fairly, I mean. 
But Billy is progressive in this respect. 

Ruth. Why, Bob, I hope he hasn't been saying anything unkind about 
papa? 

Bob. Not unless the truth is unkind. He's told me one or two things 
that help me appreciate how hard the battle will be to win you. 
{Change of tone) Oh, I forgot! I flatter myself. 

Ruth. (Dropping her eyes) I suppose you'll keep that up on me 
now. 

Bob. (Taking both her hands this time. Seriously) Ruth, tell me 
just how hard it is going to be. 

(Enter Leader, R. He is the funereal type, ultraserious; 
dressed in black and with a cadaverous face. About twenty- 
eight or thirty years old.) 

Leader. Hem ! 

Ruth. (Jumping away from Bob) Goodness! {Embarrassedly) 
You frightened me, Mr. Leader. I'll go and tell the rest to 
come in. {Crosses and exit R) 

Bob. Well, Mr. Leader, are you having a good time? 

Le^vder. (Sitting down on chair and staring straight ahead of him) 
Hm — well, not exactly, Mr. Vale. I am not quite at home in 
this company. Hm — do you think there will be any, — er — 
dancing? {Mildly alarmed). 

11 



Bob. (Laughing to himself) Sure thing. Ruth's father is going to 
lead a quadrille. 

Leader. (Turning to Bob, greatly alarmed) I can not believe that, 
Mr. Vale! 

(Enter the company, R. Ruth beside Miss Crane, a lean, 
eagle-eyed spinster of perhaps thirty-five, old-fashioned in 
dress; Joe Hubbel, a rather sly-'and-subdued looking chap of 
perhaps tw^enty-one, beside Miriam Farnham, a fine noi*mal 
girl of same age; and Tom Waring, a "sport," beside Lillian 
Hope, obviously a butterfly. 

Ruth leads the w^ay to center table, on w^hich is a heap of 
picture postals, and they group themselves around it, chatter- 
ing commonplaces and passing the pictures from hand to hand. 
It is apparent that Waring and Miss Hope are bored. 

Gradually Waring and Joe Hubbel detach themselves from 
the others and meet upstage L) . 

Waring. I'm dying for a cigarette. 

Joe. It wouldn't be safe to smoke one around here. 

Waring. Not even on the veranda? 

Joe. No. The old man would raise a rumpus if he even smelled the 
smoke. 

(Bob detaches himself from the company and moves over to- 
ward Joe and Waring). 

Waring. (To Bob) Joe says it isn't safe to smoke around here. 

Bob. It isn't safe to smoke anywhere. Bad for these works. {Laying 
a hand on Waring's stomach). 

Waring. I couldn't stand to be held down like this. I wish Mr. Hub- 
bel could get his lamps on 7ny home. The wagon stops there 
every Saturday evening. 

Bob. You mean the patrol wagon? 

Waring. Not yet. (Glancing across at Leader, who is fawning upon 
Ruth) Say, what cat brought that in? 

Joe. (Laughs uncontrollably but softly). 

Miss C. (Moves nearer to the boys and eavesdrops). 

Bob. (Glancing over his shoulder) That's my hated rival. 

Joe. He hangs around here like a disease. 

Bob. Nevertheless he's got his good points. I told him Mr. Hubbel 
was going to lead a quadrille and he almost believed it. 

Waring. (To Joe) You say he hangs around here? Who stands 
for it? 

Joe. The old man. He thinks Amos is one of the seven wonders — be- 
cause he looks like a pall-bearer, I guess. 

12 



(Miss Crane moves back to the picture-gazing group again) 

Waring. And what does your sister think of him? 

Joe. Ruth doesn't know how to hate, but if she did she would hate 
Leader. Dad figures on making a match, I think. 

Bob. (With affected concern) I reckon I'll be bidding myself good- 
by one of these days. When do you think it will happen, Joe? 

Joe. (Smiling) Hard to say. But I've had a feeling that things 
were going to transpire around our home before long. 

Miriam. (Crossing to the whispering boys) Here, you boys, this 
isn't nice — it's bad-mannered. 

Waring. We were just saying pretty things about you, Miriam. 

Lillian. (Crosses to the group) What's happening here? 

Joe. We were trying to arrange a game of some sort. What do you 
think would be good? 

LiLL. (In a bored tone; lifting a hand to her hair) Oh, I don't know. 
(Yawns) 

(Ruth finally forsakes the postcards and crosses toward the 
other group, leaving Leader and Miss Crane alone. Leader does 
not relish this, and betakes himself to a chair on extreme R. 
Miss Crane follows him there). 

Miriam. Here comes Ruth. Maybe she can suggest something. 

(The group makes arrangements for some game, speaking 
in undertones, while Miss Crane and Leader are conversing on 
R). 

Miss C. Mr. Leader, I overheard something this evening which I con- 
sider it my duty to tell you. 

Leader. (Suddenly taking interest) When, where, who? Here? 
Miss C. Yes. 

Leader. (Scornfully) What can you expect from such a worldly 
crowd? Don't you see how anxious they are to get dancing? 

Miss C. They called you a pall-bearer — I really feel it my duty to tell 
you, since we are together in church work. 

Leader. Yes, I'm glad you've done so. But who said it? 

Miss C. Joseph Hubbel. 

Leader. Joe Hubbel? 

Miss C. Yes. 

Leader. Then it is my duty to rebuke him. (Calls Joe) Joe! Come 

here a minute, will you please? 
Joe. (Crosses to Leader and Miss C.) Yes? 

13 



Leader. (Funereally) Hm — Sister Crane has told me an unkind 
thing you said about me a few minutes ago. Unless you apolo- 
gize I'll have to take the matter to your father. 

Joe. (Aside) I wonder what I said. {To Miss C.) What did I say? 

Miss C. (Righteously) You must answer to your own conscience, not 
me. 

Joe. (Aside) These ninnies will make trouble unless 1 come down 
to their little ideas ; so here goes. ( To Leader) Well, I'm sorry 
for what I said (Aside) whatever it was. (Turns away and 
leaves them to an awkward silence). 

Ruth. Come, everybody, we're going to play "Jacob and Rachel." 

Leader. (To Miss C, pricking up his ears) Bible names. It ought 
to be all right. 

(The company clears back the chairs, etc., and forms a circle 
by joining hands. 

Various voices: "Who'll be it?" "Bob will." "No, make it 
a girl." "I think Joe should.") 

Bob. (Decisively) Mr. Leader will oblige us. 

Voices. Yes, yes. 

(Leader demurs until he finds that Ruth is anxious to tie the 
handkerchief over his eyes, then submits. Languishes under 
her touch. Takes his place in center of ring and then selects a 
"Rachel." Unfortunately he picks Miss Crane, much to the 
company's delight. She changes her voice ludicrously, and he 
chases her around the ring. At last he catches her in his 
arms: and at the same moment Mr. Hubbel sticks his head in 
at the door, R. Enter Hubbel. 

Hubbel breaks into their circle. The company is forced to 
stand its ground, but Waring and Lillian move closer together, 
on edge of circle, upstage). 

Hubbel. (Expostulating) Young people, this is next thing to danc- 
ing. What sort of work is it, I ask you, to chase each other 
around, as I have just seen you doing, and fall into each other's 
arms? Don't you know that this is but a temptation of the 
devil's, to lure you on to other things? Many a fallen soul has 
begun the descent at this point. I admonish you to beware of 
the evils that surround you; beware of the pleasures that en- 
snare. If you want to be joyful, whj'^ don't you sit around — not 
run around — in a circle and sing hymns? 

LiLL. (To Waring) Can you beat that? 

Waring. No; I can't. But he will. Wait and see. 

Hubbel. (After glaring at them in silence while Lill and Waring are 
whispering) A lunch is now ready in the dining room; but if 

14 



you felt as grieved over this worldly exhibition as I do, you 
would fast instead of feasting, and go home and pray that you 
be kept in the narrow way. 

Waring. (To Lill) What did I tell you? 

Bob. (To Joe) I refuse to give up the eats, no matter what comes. 

HUBBEL. I feel it my duty to warn you wayward young people; yea, 
even my own children — 

(Enter Mrs. Hubbel) 

Mrs. H. (Interrupting) Father! . . . Come to lunch everybody. 

(Exit Hubbel, dignifiedly) 

(Ruth sits down in a chair and hides her face, weeping. Mi's. 
H, is conversing with Lill, whose back is to Ruth). 

Miriam. (Putting an arm around Ruth) Ruth, dear, we all under- 
stand. Don't let it upset you. 

Lill. (Leaving Mrs. H. and crossing to Ruth and Miriam) Guess 
I'll say good-night, girls. 

Miriam. Lillian ! 

Ruth, (Raising her head) You're not going? 

Lill. (Somewhat indignantly) Yes, my head aches. 

Miriam. But you will break up the party? 

Lill. It's already broken up. {They argue in low tones). 

(Joe, Bob and Waring are grouped near center; Mrs. H. is 
speaking with Leader and Miss Crane) . 

Joe. I've had enough of this. 

Waring. Why don't you start something? 

Bob. He's got a mother to consider. 

Waring. Lill's on her high horse, Joe, and I reckon we'll be going in 
a minute; but you know how it is. 

Joe. I don't blame you. Heavens, I wish I knew some first-class 
profanity. 

Bob. (Laughingly) Aw shucks, we're making a big fuss over nothing. 

Lill. (Approaching Waring) Come on, Tom; my head's aching. 
Hope it doesn't spoil the party, Joe. 

Bob. (Disgusted with Lill) Not at all; we'll never miss you. 

Mrs. H. (Crossing to Lillian) I'm so sorry your head aches. Miss 
Hope. (Sees them to the door, L) . 

Leader. (To Miss C.) A noble rebuke. It must have taken great 
courage on Brother Hubbel's part. He really didn't mean it for 
you and me. I must speak with him later. 

15 



Miss C. (Bashfully) I think you would have had the same courage. 

(Exeunt Waring and Lill, L) 
Mrs. H. Come now, everybody, or the coffee will be cold. 
Miss C. CoflFee! They drink coffee! 
Leader. We will set them an example. 

(Exeunt company to dining room, R) 
(Enter Waring and Lill on L, looking for something). 
Lill. Where did you leave it? 

Waring. (Looking about him) If I knew, I'd lay my hand on it — 
before old man Hubbel catches us. 

Lill. My, that coffee smells good. I'm so hungry — 

Waring. Your headache didn't last long . . . Confound that tobacco, 
where is it? 

Lill. It never existed. 

Waking. (Looking up comically) What's that? 

Lill. I'm talking about the headache. 

Waring, Oh. 

Lill. Goodness that coffee does smell good. 

Waring. Hang the coffee. We'll go to a restaurant and have some 
wine. 

Lill. (Delighted) Now you're talking. But remember, Hon, this is 
on me to-night. 

Waring. To whom are you spickin'? Come on, let's depart before the 
prophet comes in. There's a tobacco store on the corner. 

(Exeunt Waring and Lill, L) 

(Enter Hubbel and Leader, in conversation) 

Leader. No, I don't go around gossiping, Brother Hubbel, but I feel 
this to be a sacred duty. You are harboring a sinner in your 
home. He is eating into the vitals of your family. 

Hubbel. Do not speak in riddles. Brother. Parables are all right, but 
I have no use for riddles. 

Leader. This sinner is a liar. 

Hubbel. A liar? 

Leader. Yes. One who can look you in the eye and deliver false- 
hood. Had it not been about you I might have believed him 
myself. 

Hubbel. (Alarmed) About me? 

16 



Leader. Yes. 

{A Pause) 

HuBBEL. Come, come, don't keep me in suspense. 

Leader. (Looking about him nervously) Well, Brother Hubbel, I was 
told that you were going to lead a dance here to-night — a qua- 
drille. 

Hubbel. (Excitedly) Who told you? I demand to know who told you? 

Leiadesi. Probably it is better that I should not tell. 

Hubbel. The liar! His soul must be as black as ink. I demand to 
know his name. He shall not stay another moment under this 
roof. 

Leader. Maybe you can guess. He is, I believe, paying attention to 
your daughter. 

Hubbel. Ah! I knew it. 

(Bob and Ruth come up to the door, R, and look in, but in- 
stead of entering, turn away) . 

Hubbel. (Calling them) Robert Vale! 

(Enter Bob, a moment later, followed by Ruth — timidly) 
I want a word with you. Ruth, you remain, too. 
(Bob faces him fearlessly, a half-smile on his face) 
Brother Leader tells me that you said I was to lead a dance 
here to-night. 

Dob. (Laughingly) "Brother" Leader is all right except that he is 
crazy. 

Leader. (Offended) You can not deny it. 

Bob. (Misconstruing him) I have just affinned it. 

Leader. I mean the falsehood. 

Bob. You need a tonic, Leader. 

Hubbel. Enough of this fencing. I want to know the truth. Robert 
Vale, did you say what it is charged you said? 

Bob. In a jest, yes. 

Hubbel. (Angrily) Jest or no jest, you associated my name with a 
sinful proceeding, and I ask you to leave this house. 

Bob. (Ignoring Hubbel, looks steadily at Leader, who drops his eyes) 
You poor little creature. Your soul is as shriveled as your face. 
Why don't you learn a few lessons from real men? 

Hubbel. Do you infer, sir, that / am not a real man? 

Bob. No. I rather like you, Mr. Hubbel. Your ideas are away out 
of date, but you're a man for all that. If you could only get 
your brain to work normally you'd be a prince. The father of 
Ruth couldn't be very bad . . . But this article here (Pointing 

17 



to Leader) lives in the present generation and there's no excuse 
for his bigotry. Your mind has been mistaught: his is diseased. 
Tradition spoiled you: ignorance and knavery spoil him. Why, 
any one with half an eye could see through this little frame-up 
of his. He wants to put me in bad with the family. 

HuBBEL. (Cooled down considerably) The fact remains that you said 
I was going to lead a quadrille here to-night. 

Bob. Don't you believe in a joke occasionally? 

HuBBEL. It is sinful to joke about sin. But I resent what you say of 
my brain. It is false, young man. You are deceiving yourself. 
Satan has perverted your ideas: mine are taken from the Word. 
And as for Brother Leader, he is a worthy believer. 

Bob. (Ignoring the sermon) Let me give you a case in point. You 
bounced in on our harmless little game of "Jacob and Rachel." 
You spoke about the evils of physical contact, or some such 
thing. New let me ask you, Mr. Hubbel: what credit is it to 
us to resist imaginary temptations? 

Hubbel. I don't understand you. 

Bob. If my mind is so impure that I can't touch a girl's hand with- 
out igTioble thoughts, I'm not fit to associate with anybody, let 
alone young women. But if I am a normal, clean man I'll be 
able to mix intimately with my fellow creatures, both female 
and male; join hands with them, laugh with them, and taste 
pure, wholesome pleasures, without what you call "sin." 

Hubbel. (Losing patience) Some of your free-thinking notions. I 
warn you, young man, you are on the wrong track. (Getting 
worked up) And perhaps I'll never have a better opportunity 
of telling you that I don't want you around my daughter. I 
don't know what's getting into my family. It is going after the 
things of Mammon. And I lay the blame to the likes of you, 
with your infidelic ideas. You will oblige me, sir, by staying 
away from here. 

Ruth. (Imploringly) Papa! 

Bob. (To Ruth) Never mind, Ruth. He can't frighten me. 

Hubbel. (Sharply) What's that? 

Bob. I said you couldn't frighten me. 

Hubbel. (Losing his temper) Leave my house. I've had enough of 
you. 

Billy. (Appearing L, suddenly, in his pyjamas) What's all the noise 
about? 

Ruth. (Turning around) Why, Billy! 

Hubbel. William, what do you mean, — coming down here in your 
nightclothes like this? 

18 



Billy. I thought the house was on fire. 

Bob. Pshaw! we've all seen a boy in pyjamas. 

HUBBEL. I don't want any of your interference, sir. The young rascal 
is getting beyond me, and I blame you. 

Bob. I seem to be to blame for a lot of things. 

HuBBEL. You will oblige me by getting out. 

Bob. For Ruth's sake I shall stay. If I left now, sore as I am, I'd 
never come back : and that wouldn't be fair to Ruth. 

Leader. There are others in whom she might just possibly be inter- 
ested. 

Ruth. (Half angrily) Father, why don't you tell Mr. Leader that 
his interference is objectionable? 

Billy. (Before retiring) Is it all right about that grass. Bob? 

Bob. You bet. 

HUBBEL. Slang, profanity, lies and deceit. I don't know what — 

Billy. Good-night everybody. 

Bob. Good-night, Bill. 

HuBBEL. (Strides to R and calls through door) Joseph! 

(A moment later, enter Joe, in shirt sleeves, followed by 
Miriam) . 

You are my son and this is my house. There (Pointing to 
Bob) is an unwelcome guest. He comes uninvited to the feast. 
Put him out. 

Ruth. (Angrily) Father, how dare you — ! 

HuBBEL. (Turning upon Ruth) Dare? Do you address your father 
like that? 

(Ruth begins to cry) 

Joe. What's the matter? 

(Miriam takes Ruth aside) 

Bob. (To Joe) This (Indicating Leader) has been making trouble. 
He thinks he is good enough to shine Ruth's shoes, and so he 
has persuaded your father that I am a liar, an infidel, a knave 
and a few other little things. 

Hubbel. (To Joe) Did you hear my command? 

Joe. (To Leader) You got something coming to you, Leader. If it 
wasn't in my own home I'd knock your block off. 

Hubbel. (To Joe) Joseph! Where did you learn such language? 
Has all my teaching brought forth such fruits as this? 

19 



Joe. (Hotly) Exactly. We're sick and tired of your preaching. It's 
all we hear. You make your family's life hell on earth with 
your everlasting nagging. And you're not satisfied with that. 
You insult our friends. 

(Hubbel gets in such a passion he can not speak. Shuts his 
fists, prances, and goes out, followed by Leader. Exeunt Hubbel 
and Leader, R) 

Ruth. Oh Joe, I'm so sorry you spoke like that. 

Miriam. Yes, Joe, it must have hurt him terribly. 

Joe. It will do him good. Things can't go on like this. 

Bob. He isn't beaten yet, though. Don't you ever think it. 

Ruth. If only Amos Leader would leave him alone! 

Bob. I'll kill off that Uriah Heep one of these days . . . Say, Joe, you'd 
better come up and stay with me to-night. 

(Enter Mrs. Hubbel) 

Mrs. H. What has happened? I never saw pa in such a passion in 
my life. 

Joe. I crossed him, mother. 

Mrs. H. You shouldn't have done it, dear. You know his peculiarities. 

Joe. Yes, I do. All of us do. But we've had about enough of them. 
If religion does this to him and to us, the sooner we're all 
among the sinners the better. I tell you, mother, I won't put 
up with it much longer. 

Miriam. Joe! Please don't make things worse. Come, get you coat 
and walk home with me. The air will cool down your temper. 

Joe. (Crosses R to get his coat, which is in kitchen, and meets Hubbel 
in doorway, carrying coat) 

(Enter Hubbel, R, with Joe's coat) 

Bob. (To Ruth, in a whisper) By Jove, the old gentleman has re- 
pented and is bringing the olive branch. 

Ruth. No, you ai-e mistaken. See how pale father is. 

Hubbel. (Fixing his eyes on Joe) Is this your coat, sir? 

Joe. Yes. {Reaches for it) Thanks, I was just — 

Hubbel. (Interrupting, but not releasing coat) Wait a minute. {In 
slow, awful tones) While stooping to pick up a spoon that had 
fallen, as she helped your mother wipe the dishes, Sister Crane 
detected the odor of tobacco. It seemed to come from this coat. 
Just now, while I was in the kitchen, she referred the matter 
to me, as it was her duty to do: and this is the result. {Hold- 
ing up a pwckuge of cigarette tobacco) 

Joe. It doesn't belong to me. I don't know how it got in my coat. 

20 



Bob. It's Tom's. I saw him take it out of his vest-pocket, where it 
showed, and put it in a coat hanging on a chair. As we all had 
our coats off, while clearing the table, it was easy to make the 
mistake. 

HuBBEL. (Fairly trembling with anger) If I were a young man, 
Robert Vale, I'd sorely chastise you for all this. It is you and 
your likes who have brought sin into my family, and we knov/ 
not where the end will be. It is easy for your lying tongue to 
find excuses for this hyprocite here {Pointing to Joe). 

Joe. I tell you I don't smoke, and the tobacco is not mine. I had no 
idea it was there. 

HuBBEL. Is it not enough, sir, that you pollute your body, without 
staining your soul? Must you add lies to deceit? 

Joe. I'll not stand this. Governor. If my word isn't good enough for 
you, then your house is not good enough for me. 

Mrs. H. Joseph! 

Joe. I mean it mother. (Snatches coat from HubbeVs hands) This 
is the last straw. (Starts toward exit L) 

Miriam. (Catching his sleeve) Joe, don't do anything you will be 
sorry for. Think of your mother. 

Joe. (Wrenching free) Don't preach to me. I've been preached to 
all my life. (Exit L and slams door) 

Mrs. H. (Sobbing) My boy's gone! (Buries her face in her hands) . 

HuBBEL. (Unbending) Yes, gone. Gone to seek the pleasures of the 

world, which he could not find in this house of God. (Exit R) 

(Leader stands wavering, wondering whether to stay or 
follow Hubbel out) 

Bob. (To Leader) You and your friend Miss Crane are a fine pair. 
It's little-minded things like you that sicken the world of 
church-going. Your presence is like the gloom of a musty pew. 
Why in reason's name don't you get out into the sunlight and 
ventilate your souls? 

Leader. These are the words of a worldling. (Exit R) 

Bob. (Comically) Heaven help us! 

Mrs. H. (Recovering herself and turning imploringly to Bob) Robert, 
I want you to promise me that you'll find him to-night and take 
him home with you. 

Bob. (Reassuringly) Don't worry, Mrs. Hubbel. He'll go straight to 
our place. I'll find him in my room when I get there. 

Mrs. H. But if you don't? 

Bob. I'll telephone. 

Mrs. H. Thank you, Robert. 

21 



Bob. Well, Miriam^, I guess it's up to me to take you home, eh? 

Miriam. (Unenthusiastically) I guess so. Bob. 

Bob. You're not worrying too, are you? 

Miriam. (With an effort) No, indeed. I trust Joe farther than his 
father does. 

Ruth. Is Miss Crane still doing dishes, I wonder? 

Bob. It would be a safer bet to say she was going around the kitchen 
with a magnifying-glass. 

Mrs. H. (Smiling) You're a dreadful boy, Robert ... As a matter of 
fact, I left her making fudge. 

Ruth. She and Leader may eat it. We won't. 

Bob. Preserve us. 

Miriam. Not to-night. 

(They prepare to depart) 

Mrs. H. Willie will dispose of it, no doubt. 

(Enter Miss Crane and Leader, R) 

Miriam. (Moving L) Our things are in the hall. 

Miss C. The fudge is cooling. 

Bob. Billy will attend to it in the morning. Miss Crane. 

(Mrs. Hubbel and Ruth see Bob and Miriam to door) 

Leader. It's time to say good-night. Ruth will save us some of the 
fudge. 

Miss C. I guess we had better go. 

(Leader tries to say good-night to Ruth, but she is too busy 
with Bob. Mrs. Hubbel, however, seems to treat the two scandal- 
mongers courteously. Everybody says good-night a number of 
times. Exeunt: Miriam, Bob, Miss Crane and Leader, L) 

Ruth. What a miserable evening! 

Mrs. H. Not so miserable as the night will be — for me. 

Ruth. (Putting an arm around her) Joe will be all right, mamma. 
He should know enough to take care of himself at his age. 

Mrs. H. But he will not come back. I feel in my heart that he has 
gone for good. 

Ruth. Nonsense. It will all blow over in a day or so. 

Mrs. H. I hope so, Ruth; but I can not feel sure. It is a case of the 
trodden worm turning. Joseph has stood much more than many 
a boy would have stood. 

(Enter Hubbel, R, and hears last sentence) 

22 



HiUBBEL. You hanker after that disobedient boy as the world hankers 
after sinful pleasure. 

Ruth. (Crosses to L, immediately, as though unwilling to hear any 
more preaching) Good-night, mother. 

HUBBEL. Ruth ! 

Ruth. (Ignores her father and exit L) 

HuBBEL. Do you see what you have done? You have turned my chil- 
dren against me. 

Mrs. H. Go on. Preach away. Preach to your heart's content. 
(Rises and faces him angrily) You will drive me away from 
you next. 

HuBBEL. Yet will I do my duty even then. 

Mrs. H. Your duty, your duty! Is it the duty of a father to act the 
hypocrite? 

HuBBEL. A hypocrite? I? 

Mrs. H. Yes, a hyprocrite. You prate about the children's pleasure. 
What about yours? When you were young you disgraced your 
whole family with your folly. 

HuBBEX. But I repented. 

Mrs. H. Yes, when you had had your fill of it. And then you got 
religion. But what kind of religion? The kind that preaches, 
eternally preaches, but is void of charity. The whole world is 
twisted to you now, you've harped so long upon its "pleasures." 
What of your own? What of the pleasure it affords you to 
make money — yes, and withhold it from the needy? Are you 
perfect? Are you the only one around this home who can recog- 
nize goodness, justice and righteousness? What right has a 
father to become a tyrant? What right has he to bring sorrow 
and contention into a home? 

(Hubbel assumes a composed air throughout this speech, but 
is decidedly uneasy) 

HuBBEL. "I came not to bring peace but a sword." 

Mrs. H. (Excitedly) Oh, you egotist! You assume that you possess 
Christ's wisdom and then you utter his words. But you deceive 
yourself. Look into your own life, occasionally, instead of 
ours, and you'll find worse things than youthful love of laughter. 
I tell you, Thomas, you have become unbearable. You have 
finally {Her voice breaks) driven my boy from me. If he 
doesn't come back I'll leave you! (Exit R, sobbing) 

Hubbel. Sits down, somewhat dazedly. After a heavy silence, solilo- 
quizes) My own pleasures. (A pause) 

(The phone rings, and Hubbel lifts his head) 
23 



Mrs. H. (Enters R, hurriedly, and crosses to phone) Hello. Yes, 

Robert. He isn't? {After a pause, hangs up receiver and 

turns toward her husband) He's not there! He's gone! 
{Throws herself in a chair and weeps) 

CURTAIN 



24 



ACT TWO 

(Scene. Same as Act I. Two years later — 1916. Sunday 
afternoon. The room looks pretty much the same. Mrs. Hubbel 
and Mrs. Vale sit in conversation. Mrs. H. has grown grayer.) 

Mrs. H. Yes, Martha, I suppose changes will continue to come to us 
as long as we live. Sometimes I agree with the writer who said 
that man was "born to sorrow." 

Mrs. V. And especially woman. You know, I often think our natures 
must be inconceivable to the men, or they would not act the way 
they do. 

Mrs. H. (Casually) Of whom are you thinking? 

Mrs. V. Oh, of yours and mine. 

Mrs. H. (Sympathetically) Yours? 

Mrs. V. Yes. Rob, too, is undergoing some sort of evolution. He is 
not the same boy he used to be. That is one thing I came to 
see you about to-day. 

Mrs. H. I'm glad you and I can stick together like this, Martha. If it 
had not been so, after Joseph's disappearance, I don't know how 
I should have lived. 

Mrs. V. You can speak of him now, can't you? 

Mrs. H. Yes, — as one who is dead. 

Mrs. V. He may not be; you can not tell. 

Mrs. H. I prefer to believe so. My boy would not have kept me in 
such cruel suspense these two years. 

Mrs. V. But supposing he should turn up, and you should discover 
that he had, by force of circumstances, neglected you? Such 
things have happened veiy very often in this mysterious world. 

Mrs. H. I can not conceive of such a thing, and therefore it is im- 
possible for me to say what I should do. I can not believe that 
God would be so cruel to him. Think of his living apart from 
me so long, knowing that I must be sick of heart. No, the 
Lord would not permit that; neither could Joseph endure the 
misery of it. 

Mrs. V. Mary, I have been thinking of us mothers of late. My own 
son has caused me reflections. I have, as I've said, made 
discoveries in him, and have been set to wondering whether a 
mother knows so very much after all. It is so easy for her to 
be blinded by love. 

25 



Mrs. H. You have had no cause for sorrow, I trust? 

Mrs. V. Well, in comparison with your troubles it would amount to 
little; but nevertheless Rob's actions have disturbed me, and I 
come to you as the one person who can help me. I feel infi- 
nitely selfish in doing this, and have been holding off a long 
while on account of this feeling; but now my heart forces me 
to act . . . Tell me, have you noticed anything unusual about 
Ruth during the past few months? 

Mrs. H. I don't know that I have. She has been the same unselfish 
helpful girl she always was. 

Mrs. V. Exactly. She has deceived you by her goodness. 

Mrs. H. Deceived me? 

Mrs. V. Yes. It takes a girl, especially a thoroughly good and honest 
girl, to fool a mother. Sons can not begin to do it. Rob no 
doubt has considered me his dupe, but I have seen through him 
as though he were glass . . . Mary, these two have been drifting 
apart. 

Mrs. H. Why, Martha! What ever makes you imagine such a thing? 

Mrs. V. It is not imagination. I knew it weeks ago, but could not 
bring myself to interfere — for your sake. 

Mrs. H. For my sake? 

Mrs. V. I was speaking of a change in Robert. Now, Ruth has been 

largely responsible for it. More than that, your family has been 

responsible for Ruth's attitude. 

Mrs. H. Then you may come to the point — since my family is to 
blame. 

Mrs. V. You've discovered my excuse. Yes; your husband started the 
trouble, and who knows where it will end? 

Mrs. H. Poor Thomas! None have suffered more than he. This is 
the strange thing about human error. Its fruits are felt by 
innocent and guilty alike. And even after the blamable have be- 
come blameless, they suffer on. Yet, after all, who shall say 
that Thomas was guilty? 

Mrs. V. Not I, at any rate, — after seeing the change in him. Does 
he ever preach now at all? 

Mrs. H. No. Sometimes he and Mr. Leader argue a little: and I 
notice that pa allows himself to be worsted, as a rule. But he 
never says anything to the children any more. 

Mrs. V. And do you think they are much the worse for it? 

Mrs. H. I think not. Willie has developed into a strong, independent 
lad. I don't believe he would ever leave home, as his brother 
did, even though conditions were the same now as then. He 
would stay and fight for his rights. Oh, why couldn't pa's con- 
version have come about in this way — instead of the other? 

26 



Mrs. V. That we can not say. They call me an unbeliever, — some of 
the zealous ones; but I have strong faith in the Universe. It 
seems to me these mortal problems of ours must have a solu- 
tion in the Mind that rules all matter, all life. I can not take 
a pessimistic view of life because of our troubles and ignorance. 
It seems to me that everything must work out satisfactorily at 
last. Yet, I believe we should exercise our reason to the full 
extent, and do our little toward helping the Maker. 

Mrs. H. But if we're mistaken, how about it then? Take my husband, 
for instance: he used to possess such assurance, and yet he was 
misguided. His zeal wrought disaster. Our home has almost 
been wrecked. There have been times when I hated him in my 
heart. On different occasions I have almost left him. And this 
was all brought about through religious faith. What is the 
meaning of these things? Where is the God in them? 

Mrs. V. It is you who seem to be the doubter, Mary. Do you ever talk 
to your husband like this? 

Mrs. H. No; I dare not. He is sad enough, poor man. I believe he 
questions the Almighty much more severely than I do. 

Mrs. V. As I see it, the trouble has been caused not by willful sin- 
fulness but mortal ignorance, and so the situation must be in 
the hands of a higher power than man. The innocent child 
that burns its hands through lack of experience with fire 
suffers; but Nature has provided means for alleviating the 
pain and healing the wound. So in our grown-up childishness 
■do we suffer — ^and find relief. The relief comes we scarcely 
I know how, but it comes, 

Mrs. H. (Drops her head and weeps). 

Mrs. V. (Lays a hand on her friend's hand) And I feel sure, dear, 
that your relief will come, when you least expect it. Right now 
I am groping myself. I try to convince myself that I am not 
worrying about Rob; but the fact remains that I am. The 
evolution, or whatever you may call it, that has enveloped our 
two families during the past two years, has even extended to 
me at last. I, who never worried before. 

Mrs. H. You mean that our trouble has affected Ruth, and she in turn 
has made a change in Robert? 

Mrs. V. I don't know how far she is responsible for it; but I do 
know that Ruth alone can bring him back to his old self. In 
short, I wish they would get married. 

Mrs. H. Doubtless they will one of these days. 

Mrs. V. Has Ruth said anything to you about it? 

Mrs. H. No. 

27 



Mrs. V. But haven't you noticed that Rob is not so attentive as he 
used to be, and Ruth not so concerned? 

Mrs. H. I am sorry, Martha, if I have been wrapped up in my own 
affairs to the exclusion of Ruth's and Rob's; but 

Mrs. V. (Interrupting kindly) I don't mean to blame you, indeed. I 
am simply trying to do the best thing for both of them. Tell me, 
did you know that Ruth refused to marry him just about a 
year ago? 

Mrs. H. I had no idea of it. Why did she refuse him? 

Mrs. V. Can't you guess? 

Mrs. H. (Beginning to understand) Surely it wasn't on my account! 

Mrs. V. You have guessed it. She wouldn't leave you, knowing how 
keenly you felt Joe's disappearance. 

Mrs. H. Oh, I'm so glad you told me! I have been selfish and blind. 

Mrs. V. All of us are, Mary. But in the long run our selfishness and 
blindness seem to result in good — so long as we are sincere. 
Was it not selfishness that overcame my scruples and sent me 
to you to-day? I have seen my son lose some of his ideals. A 
remark he made some days ago upset me greatly. He said: 
"Oh, well, mother, we can't get what we want in this world 
anyway, so we might as well educate ourselves to be satisfied 
with little." At the moment he was dressing to go out with a 
girl whose sole asset — as far as I can make out — is a pretty 
face; to spend the dollars he should be saving for a home. 

Mrs. H. Has their disagreement, so new to me, gone as far as that? 

Mrs. V. Yes, — farther. Robert is becoming a regular spendthrift. 
He's got so he can scarcely stay in the house at all. I believe 
he is trying to persuade himself that a substitute for Ruth, in 
the form of pleasures, may be found. In time, probably, he 
might convince himself that she didn't care for him at all; 
and when a man like Rob does that, the consequences are often 
quite disastrous. 

Mrs. H. Is it possible that I have allowed this to escape me? 

Mrs. V. Ruth has been too clever, that's all. But with our heads 
working together we should soon be able to bring about her 
downfall — in spite of her great pride. 

Mrs. H. She is on her dignity then? 

Mrs. V. Oh, yes. For the past few days, possibly weeks, she hasn't 
been speaking to him at all. I was passing his room the night 
before last and I heard him consign her to a very uncomfor- 
table locality. Rob inherits his habit of thinking aloud from 
his father — ^as well as a few other characteristics. 

Mrs. H. Dear, I'm so sorry! 

28 



Mrs. V. Never mind, we will fix it up between us. I'll send Robert 
over, and you can talk to Ruth. 

Mrs. H. She shall marry him at once, the silly girl. . . . But here she 
comes now. 

(Enter Ruth, R) 

Mrs. V. (Rising to go) Hello Ruth. 

Ruth. (Casually) Hello. ... I hope I'm not driving you away? 

Mrs. V. (Taking hat from table and pinning it on) No. I have 
company this afternoon and must get home. 

Ruth. Have you seen Miriam lately? 

Mrs. V. (Moving toward L) No; I understand she is out of town 
for a holiday. She needs it, too: office work is telling on her. 
(Standing with the door of exit L in her hand) Well, I must 
be off. Good-by. (Exit) 

Mrs. H. Miriam Farnham is a wonderful girl. 

Ruth. (Taking chair beside her mother) I agree with you. She 
stands on her own feet and doesn't have to take her hat off to 
any man. 

Mrs. H. (Smiling slightly) Women don't usually take off their hats 
to men. But now that I think of it, I don't believe I have heard 
you disparage man before. 

Ruth. We get wiser as we grow older. 

Mrs. H. Why, Ruth, one would think you contemplated old-maiden- 
hood? 

Ruth. And why not? Aren't the cleverest and finest girls in the 
world bachelor-girls? 

Mrs. H. (Again smiling) Where did you get the title? 

Ruth. Well, since it is the name "old maid" rather than the condi- 
tion of maidenhood that frightens most girls, we've chosen the 
free-and-easy, desirable name of "bachelor-girl." 

Mrs. H. (Aggressively) I'm afraid you and Robert have been en- 
joying a friendly little argument. 

Ruth. (Dishonestly) I fail to see any logic in your deduction, mother. 
(Enter Billy, L, whistling. He is now in long pants, and is 
in other respects quite some man). 

Billy. (Crossing to Ruth) What do you know, Ruth? Tom Waring 
and Lill Hope are back to town? 

Ruth. Did you see them? 

Billy. Yes, and talked to them. They are one pair of swells, and 
they're married. What's more, they're coming up here this 
afternoon to make a call. 

29 



Ruth. Does she look any older? 

Billy. No; but I reckon her cheeks would be paler if a fellow could 
see them more distinct. 

Ruth. You should say "distinctly," Will. Adverbs end in -ly occa- 
sionally. 

Billy. So do other things. Some of Tom's stories, for instance. He 
told me, as we stood on the street corner a few minutes ago, 
that he had a car of his own in the East. 

Mrs. H. Probably he has, Willie. What reason have you for doubting 
it? 

Billy. I've got a hunch. He looks like a big bluff to me. 

Mrs. H. This isn't exactly Sunday talk, dear. 

Billy. Well, mom, Waring isn't exactly a Sunday subject. 

Ruth. (Laughingly) My, but you're getting clever, sonny. Those 
long trousers have had a startling effect on your wits. 

Billy. Please don't make fun of them, Ruth, — at least until I've got 
more used to them. You've no idea how it feels to sprout up 
like I've done. I'll soon be as awkward as Amos Leader. . . . 
By the way, he's about due, isn't he? 

Ruth. You'll have to make yourself more intelligible. 

Billy. I might say the same thing to you. Since you've been read- 
ing books instead of walking through the park on Sundays, 
your language is getting outrageous, Ruth. 

Mrs. H. There, Miss Ruth, take that! 

Billy. I mean that Amos didn't come last Sunday afternoon, and 
Sunday school will be about over now. 

Mrs. H. How is it you missed to-day, Willie? 

Billy. I didn't mean to, mom. I like Sunday school. But one of 
Ithe boys told me of a dandy lecture in the Auditorium Theater, 
free to men, and I couldn't resist it. Mightn't get another 
chance like that for months. 

Ruth. (Smilingly) Free to men, did you say? 

Billy. Including me. 

Mrs. H. And are you glad now that you made the choice? 

Billy. Yes, mom, I am. I knew my Sunday school lesson; and the 
lecture sure was some spiel. 

Ruth. If it weren't for your slang, sonny, you would be all right. 

Billy. I admit my failings, sis. And now let's bury the hatchet. 
I suppose it was mean of me to mention those walks in the park. 
No doubt they'll be all the go again before long. I hope so, 
anyway. 

30 



Ruth. I appreciate your solicitation on my behalf, William, but little 
boys have no discretion in these matters that involve nice dis- 
criminations and mature judgment. 

Billy, Whew ! Mother, — help ! 

(The doorbell rings) 
I'll bet it's Waring and his bride. (Crosses L) . 
Mrs. H. What have we for supper, Ruth? 

Ruth. I made a new kind of salad, but I don't know whether it will 
be digestible or not. 

Billy. (Opening door, L) Hello Amos. 

{Enter Leader. He has improved a lot) 
Leader. (Crossing to Ruth) How do everybody? 
Mrs. H. How are you, Amos? 
Ruth. Hello. 

Billy. (Giving Ruth the "high sign" behind Leader's back) Fine 
weather we're having, isn't it? 

Leader. (Sitting down) Yes, it is. 

Ruth. (Embarrassedly) I was afraid it would rain this afternoon. 

Mrs. H. (After a brief but painful pause, in which Billy chuckles) 
Quite an improvement over last summer. 

Leader. Yes, I think we'll have a late fall. 

(Another pause, during which Billy is in spasms) 

Ruth. (At her wits' end) Didn't father say he wanted to see Amos 
when he came in, mamma? 

Mrs. H. (With a half -smile) I believe he did. 

Billy. He's in his study now, I think. 

Leader. (After hesitating a moment) I'll go in to him then. 
(Exit R) 

Billy. Amos is what I call a wise boy. He knows the only stand-in 
he's got around here is with dad, and he's not going to take 
any chances on losing that. 

Mrs. H. You shouldn't make fun of him, Willie. He is really a great 
comfort to your father. Besides, he has many good points 
himself. 

Billy. Oh, I've got nothing much against him, except that he didn't 
marry Miss Crane long ago. Why on earth doesn't he do it? 
If the deed was once done she'd stop woiTying him; and he'd 
get used to her in time. They say we can accustom ourselves 
to almost anything. 

31 



Ruth. You are quite a profound philosopher, brother. 

Mrs. H. (Mischievously) Possibly your sister stands in the way. 

Billy. Now, mom, that was a mean one. If you women want to make 
any headway against us — hem! — men, you'll have to stick to- 
gether. 

Ruth. (Perversely) Hasn't Amos improved under my care? 

Billy. (Getting serious) Now, sis, talk sense and be reasonable. 
What kind of a game are you playing with Bob Vale anyway? 
You monkey around with this fellow here and keep Bob up in 
the air all the time — yes, and yourself, too. What's got into 
you? 

Mrs. H. Hush, Willie, you don't understand these things. Go out 
and argue with the men: Ruth and I want to have a chat. 

Billy, /'m squelched. (Starts to cross R) 

(The doorbell rings) 

Hello! This seems to be our busy day. It surely must be 
Waring and his wife at last. (Crosses to door, L) 

(Enter Waring and Lillian, he carrying a cane; both decked 
out elaborately). 

Come in, Tom and Mrs. Waring. We were expecting you. 

Ruth. (Rises and crosses L) Will told us you were in town. How 
are you? (Kisses Lillian and shakes hands with Tom) 

(The four of them move toward Mrs. Hubbel, R) 

Mrs. H. (Rising and gi-eeting them) How do you do? 

(Greetings and handshakes on all sides) 

Ruth. (Indicating chairs) Sit down and take off your things. 

LiLL. No, thank you, Ruth; we can't stay. Just dropped in to say 
hello. 

Waring. You are looking fine, Ruth. 

Ruth. Thank you, I feel quite normal. But what's this I hear about 
wedding bells? 

LiLL. (Forced gaiety) Don't I look sad and subdued? 

Billy. And see the haggard look Tom is wearing. 

Waring. (Lack of mirth in all his words) We've been sailing around 
the country till we've got ourselves all worn out. Thought we'd 
settle down in this quiet little town again for a while and re- 
cuperate. I almost wish now that I'd brought my car. 

Billy. What make did you say it was? 

LiLL. A "Doverland"; latest model. 

32 



Waring. May send for it even yet if we decide to stay long. 

Mrs. H. You say you've been around the country a good deal. (A 
pause) Did you — run — across — any one — you — knew? 

Waring. Not any one from hei'e. {Flips his cane) We were mostly 
in the big cities, you know. New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, 
and along the sea coast. 

LiLL. I certainly do love the shore. We spent some glorious months 
in the hotels at Atlantic City and Asbury. 

Ruth. I have always wanted to see the ocean, and especially the 
throngs of bathers whose pictures we see on post cards. 

LiLL. (Patronizingly) You dear little country girl . . . But one gets 
tired of it afterwhile. 

Waring. (Drawlingly) Y-es; you get filled up with the fast life. 
Wine loses its sparkle, in time, even if you do buy it at Church- 
ill's. We've paced the broad way and fluttered among the white 
lights with the rest of 'em — haven't we Lill? And yet it seems 
nice to get back and sniff the cornfields again ; mighty nice. 

Ruth. (To Lillian) I suppose the styles on Fifth Avenue are more 
outlandish than ever this year? 

Billy. (Drawing Waring aside) They've got on the dress question. 

Lill. These togs I've got on came from Paris. (Admires herself) 

Billy. (To Tom) Say, are all the stories we hear about New York 
true? 

Waring. (Wisely) Yes, and then some. I'll tell you, Bill, if you ever 
got there and into the swing of things, you'd say good-by to this 
burg forever. (In lower tones) I imagine that's what Joe 
must have done. You said this afternoon that you'd never 
heard a scratch from him, didn't you? 

Billy. (Looking troubled) Yes ... Oh no, he's gone, Tom. If he 
was alive at all he'd manage to reach us in some way. 

Waring. Hard lines . . . However, it's all in a lifetime, I suppose. 
Now me, for instance — I've had a stroke of hard luck myself 
lately. This is on the Q-T; but I came to this dump to sort of 
retrieve my fortune, as it were. That stuff" about the car was 
all bunk. A fellow has to carry the bluff, you know, to make it 
go nowadays. By the way, I don't suppose you have a spare five 
sticking about your clothes, old boy? 

Billy. (Embarrassedly) Sorry I haven't, Tom. But if you're really 
up against it I think I might get it. 

Waring. I'd appreciate it awfully, old chap. 

Billy. What do you intend doing here? 

Waring. The public — 'to be perfectly frank. But don't tip my mit. 
You'll see me with an office on main street before two weeks: 

33 



mark my words. The bunk will do it. But just at the moment 
I'm sort of squeezed dry, so to speak. Lill's such a plunger, 
you know. 

LiLL. (To Waring) I'm going to look at some of Ruth's tatting; 
won't be a minute. {Crosses R ivith Ruth) 

(Ruth crosses R with Lillian) 

Waking. All right; but don't be long. 

(Exeunt Ruth and Lillian, R) 

Mrs. H. I'll go and put on the kettle. You must have a cup of tea. 

Waring. No, please don't trouble, Mrs. Hubbel. 

Billy. That's what I call poetry. 

Mrs. H. (Crossing R) It isn't any bother. Besides, I want to tell 
father and Mr. Leader you are here. {Exit R) 

Waring. Leader! Is that Guy still on the turf? 

Billy. Yes, and going strong. 

Waring. You don't mean he's still hanging around Ruth? 

Billy. Yep. And if Bob doesn't spruce up Sir Amos will get her, too. 

(Doorbell rings) 

Who's this, I wonder? Probably Miriam Farnham. {Crosses 
L ) {Opening door) Why, hello Bob! 

(Enter Bob Vale) 

Welcome to our city. It's about time you were showing up. 
How many weeks — ? 

Waring. (Crossing L and interrupting speaker) Bob old boy! 

Bob. (Shaking Waring's hand) Well, if it isn't Tom! 

Billy. We were just talking about you. 

Bob. (Glancing around for Ruth) Saying anything good? 

Billy. No, certainly not. We were speaking the truth. But here 
comes dad — and Amos. 

(Enter Hubbel and Leader, R, conversing) 

Bob. (Frowning at sight of Leader) Looks like a stag party. 

Hubbel. (Advancing toward Waring) Glad to see you again, sir. 
{The old man is greatly changed. His tones are subdued; he has 
grotvn whiter. Shakes hands with Waring and nods to Bob 
Vale.) Let's see, how long is it you've been away? 

Waring. Almost two years. {Shakes hands) How are you. Leader? 

Leader. (Awkwardly greets Waring but shuns Bob Vale) Quite well, 
thank you. 

34 



(Leader isolates himself; Hubbel and Waring converse) 

Bob. (To Billy) Just my luck. Ruth out and the house full of men. 
I'm going to beat it. Something told me I shouldn't have come, 
i anyway. 

Billy. You're losing your nerve. I've got more'n you myself, and this 
is my first adventure in long breeches. Ruth will be down in 
a minute. 

Bob. Mother insisted that I come up and square myself. Billy, it took 
[more nerve than you think — even when I figured I'd find her 
alone. But now what am I to do? 

Billy. You can't leave without making a donkey of yourself, anyway: 
I've got that consolation. 

Bob. You're right. I'm in a miserable pickle. See if you can't help 
me figure a way out of it. {Takes Billy aside) 

Billy. You'd think I was your uncle or something. 

(Bob and Billy confer in whispers) 

Waring. (To Hubbel) No. I thought I saw him once, though, Mr. 
Hubbel. It was on a Coney Island ferry boat, in the Mardi Gras 
season. Everybody was throwing confetti and streamers and 
there was a genuine Manhattan uproar. I pointed the fellow 
out to Lill and we moved toward him, but it turned out to be 
somebody else. 

Hubbel. (Shaking his head) Do you think, Thomas, that it was my 
preaching alone that did it? I don't want to excuse myself, God 
knows: I have suffered too much for that. But I have been 
groping in the darkness for some ray of hope, searching for it 
in every direction. 

Waring. (Becoming more human than we have yet seen him) Mr. 
Hubbel, these things can't be helped. The world is a tough 
proposition, taking it all in all, and we're not always to blame 
for the things that happen to us. I reckon there must have been 
something in Joe's makeup that made him go the way he did. It 
couldn't have been your preaching alone— although I think you 
did lay it on a little heavy. But you know — well, maybe I 
shouldn't tell you this? 

Hubbel. (Eagerly and humbly) Go on, go on. 

Waring. Well, perhaps I knew Joe just a little bit better than you 
did, for all you were his governor. And I'll tell you there was a 
reckless streak in him that used to scare us all at times. When 
once you got him worked up to a thing he'd go through h — 
(Halts) — I mean he'd never stop till it was pulled off. No 
doubt he seemed tame enough around the house; but when he 
got out with us boys he showed fire, believe me. 

Hubbel. Did you ever know him to smoke? 

35 



Waring. Can't say that I did. He used to say he'd promised his 
mother not to do it, and we couldn't persuade him. But I've 
seen him scrap — ^oh, boy! Saw him take a couple of Wops one 
night and make spaghetti out of 'em. Their stilettos didn't 
worry him a bit. 

HuBBEL. (With peculiar animation) I was that way myself When 
I was a lad. I knew no such thing as fear; I — I — (Drops his 
head and sighs heavily) 

Waring. (Laying a hand on his shoulder) Wish I could help you, old 
friend. Maybe things will come out all right. 

HUBBEL. (Unsteadily) I used to prate of the worldliness of my 
family and the folly of pleasure: now my eyes can see nothing 
but my own folly and the sorrow of my family. My God, why 
are we so ignorant and vain? Why can not we acquire the 
charity of Christ, and share its joys, before it is too late? 

Leader. (Approaching Hubbel and Waring) Mr. Waring, could I 
speak to you a minute? 

(Hubbel moves over toward Bob and Billy) 
Bob. Well, how are you feeling of late, Mr. Hubbel? 

(Hubbel, Bob and Billy converse in whispers) 

Leader. (Embarrassedly) You may think it funny, Mr. Waring, but 
I want to ask you something. You've been all over the country 
and maybe you can tell me what's the matter with me? 

Waring. (Surprised) Why, have you been sick? 

Leader. No, it's not that. But everybody has always treated me queer ; 
and although I've tried to be agreeable no one seems to be very 
much in favor of me. 

Waring. (Grinning) / always thought you were a first-class fellow. 

(Hubbel leaves Bob and Billy, crosses and exit R) 
Leader. I wish you could make Willie see it. 
Waring. Why, — doesn't he treat you right? 
Leader. No; I think he sets Ruth against me. 

Waring. Well, I'll tell you. Leader. As matters stand, I don't think 
your chances with Ruth are the best in the world. You see, 
she's a girl who wants, so to speak, a live wire; a fellow with 
considerable pep. Now, if you'd just loosen up a bit it might 
help a whole lot. I've found in my experience with the fair sex, 
that they like the wicked ones. The trouble with you is that 
you're too good. Most girls will put up with horns, but they 
will not stand for wings. 

Leader. A fellow can't be too good, Mr. Waring. 

Waring. Oh, yes he can. I almost lost Lill that way once. I gave 
a beggar two bits one night when she was with me, and it made 

36 



her so mad she walked away from me. It humiliated her. Now, 
I don't care to butt into your affairs, Bo, but take a tip from 
me and cut out the old man. Put all your v/ork on the giri 
herself. If you do, the battle ought to be fairly easy. 

Leader. (Eagerly) Do you think so? 

(Waring and Leader continue to talk, in an undertone, the 
latter overserious, the former obviously "joshing") 

Billy. (To Bob) Aw go on, you're kidding me. 

Bob. (Seriously) No, Billy, I'm in earnest. Put yourself in my place. 
Do you think you could start at the bottom again in a town 
where everybody thought you were prosperous? 

Billy. But surely you've got something left? 

Bob. a couple of hundred would be the very outside estimate. 

Billy. And you're going to let the office go? 

Bob. I have no choice. ... I didn't intend to tell you this, just yet 
anyway. In fact, I had made up my mind to go away first and 
explain afterwards. I was going to write Ruth, telling her the 
whole story, and releasing her from our engagement; but mother 
insisted that I come and do whatever I intended doing, in 
person. 

Billy. Why release Ruth? 

Bob. In the first place, because I half believe she wants me to; and in 
the second place, because I have nothing immediate to offer her, 
and I haven't the right to deny her the company of other fellows, 
one of whom may become serious, and all of whom will have 
me beat . . . Oh, I'm disgusted with myself. 

Billy. (With sober concern) I can't understand it, Bob. Don't see 
how you could get down and out so easily. Why, it's only been 
a matter of months, hasn't it? 

Bob. You forget that I'm quite a bit older than you, Bill. Besides, 
you're Ruth's brother and can't appreciate her. The fellow who 
falls in love with her, and then begins to waken up to the fact 
that he disappoints her — doesn't come up to her ideals, has a 
pretty fair incentive to go to the dogs. There have been nights 
when I've played poker from dusk to dawn, like some sort of 
maniac; anxious to get away from the thought that I wasn't 
good enough for her. Why, of late I haven't been able to con- 
tent myself for an hour. I've either got to be mixed up in some 
kind of excitement, or plunged in miserable brooding about — 
{Breaks off) Well, you'll think I'm crazy. 

Billy. Sure you are. What you want to do is fix it up — today. 

Bob. It's too late. I've got to start all over again. I'm like the prodi- 
gal son your dad used to preach about. (Exasperated) Great 
Scott! what a fool I've been. (A pause) However, if she 
doesn't care, it's just as well I'm 7iot in a position to marry. 

37 



Billy. You make me tired, Bob. She does care, and you've got to 
fix things up. 

Bob. Honestly, I envy Leader over there. 

Billy. You needn't. His cake is dough. 

(Leader crosses L and exit) 

(Waring crosses to Bob and Billy) 

Bob. It may look that w^ay, but girls are peculiar creatures. I've 
seen worse chaps than Leader win out by plodding and sticking. 

Waring. (Coming up) Say, Bob, w^hat's this I hear about your office 
changing hands? Not going out in the cold world just when I 
come back to the old town? 

Bob. (With assumed unconcern) What did you hear? — ^that I'd made 
a clean-up and was about to clear out? 

Waring. (Grinning) Well, not exactly, old man. But, as I told Billy 
here about his brother Joe, these things are all in a lifetime. 
As a matter of fact, I could be in better circumstances myself 
just at the present moment. 

Billy. (With youthful indiscretion) I don't suppose that's what 
Leader's been telling you just now, Tom? 

(Enter Mrs. Hubbel) 

Waring. (To Mrs H.) What on earth are those girls doing, Mrs. 
Hubbel? 

Mrs. H. They'll be down immediately. 

Bob. (Aside to Billy) I want you to promise me something, Bill. 
Say nothing about our conversation to Ruth. 

Billy. I promise. 

Bob. Not even if I act in a way that seems peculiar to you? 

Billy. All right. I guess you're to be trusted. 

Mrs. H. (Approaching Bob) Hello, Robert. How are you? 

Bob. Very well, thank you. 

(Enter Ruth and Lillian, followed by Leader) 

Ruth. (Embarrassed at sight of Bob, but approaches him bravely and 
holds out her hand; but there is a marked reserve, an affecta- 
tion of sincerity, in her manner) Glad to see you. 

Bob. (Drops her hand and his own ej'^es) And here's Lillian. 

LiLL. (Shaking hands with Bob) You're not so husky as you used to 
be. 

Waring. You can't expect a man to retain his youth and beauty with- 
out the aid of art. (Looking at his watch) Lill, we'd better 
be getting along. 

38 



(Ruth and Leader drift tog-ether as if by mutual desire) 

Mrs. H. (To Waring- and Lill) Won't you wait for a cup of tea? 

LiLL. Thank you, Mrs. Hubbel, but we promised to meet some friends 
at the Woodbine Hotel, and our time's up. 

(Waring- and wife prepare to go) 

Bob. (Soliloquizing) Wherever Leader got his information about me, 
it's a certainty he's told Ruth. I see it's all off with me. {Pre- 
pares to leave with the Warmgs) 

Mrs. H. (Aside to Ruth) Ruth, ask Robert to stay. Can't you see 
he's going? 

Ruth. (Coldly) He probably has an engagement. {Turyis to Ainos 
again) 

Mrs. H. You're not going too, are you, Robert? 

Bob. (Lightly) Sorry to miss that famous tea of yours, Mrs. Hubbel, 
but I'm mixed up in this party of Tom's {Pulling Waring' s 
coat-tail vigorously) As a matter of fact, I came here after 
him. 

Ruth. (Biting her lips) Come back and see us again, everybody. 

Billy. (Looks helplessly from Bob to Ruth and from Ruth to Mrs. 
H. Soliloquizes) What are they pulling off here, anyway? 

Several. Thank you. We will, Good-by. 

Voices. Good-by. 

(Exeunt Waring, Lillian and Bob Vale) 

Billy. (Crosses to Mrs. H.) What's the matter with Ruth, mom? 

Mrs. H. (Deceptively) Do you think anything is? If so, you'd 
better take Amos to the library and let me talk to her alone. 

Billy. A good idea. 

(Billy approaches Amos, whom Ruth is now quite willing to 
relinquish, he having served his purpose— or rather hers; and 
takes him off. Exeunt Amos and Billy) 

Mrs. H. (Sitting down beside her mother pensively) Well, mamma, 
what did I tell you about bachelor-girls? 

Mrs. H. I'm not sure that I know what you are driving at. 

Ruth. (With an effort) Well, I'm glad I'm not married — like Lillian 
Hope, for instance; and I intend to stay single. 

Mrs. H. You are not making a comparison between Tom Waring and 
Robert Vale, I hope? 

Ruth. (Decisively) All men are pretty much alike, I think. They 
are so brutally proud and sure! Talk about our vanitv — it ir. 
nothing compared to theirs. Did you hear the lie he told? 

39 



Mrs. H. (Suppressing a smile) You refer to Robert, I suppose? 
Yes — but he was in a hard place. You completely squelched 
him, Ruth. I'm sorry you did, because he came here to 
straighten things up, I believe. 

Ruth, (Somewhat indignantly) I suppose that's what his mother 
was doing here to-day? 

Mrs. H. She did mention it. 

Ruth. If I were a man I'd do my own pleading, instead of letting my 
mother intercede for me. 

Mrs. H. Ruth, listen dear. I have just wakened up to the fact that 
I am to blame for the present state of affairs. I have been 
very selfish with you. You would have been married a year 
ago had it not been for me. 

Ruth. Mother, I won't allow you to talk like that. As if you have 
not had burdens enough to carry already. It's the men and 
the men only who have caused all the misery and misunder- 
standing around here. First it was dad, then it was Joe, and 
now it's — 

Mrs. H. (Interrupting) Ruth! Can you blame your poor brother — ? 

Ruth. Yes, mamma, I can. He had no right to act as he did. And 
I don't believe he is dead, either. But even though he is, he'll 
find out in the next world that he did a very selfish thing on 
earth, and he'll be ashamed of himself. 

Mrs. H. (Shocked and somewhat grieved) I never heard a girl talk 
so in my life. But what makes you think Joseph is not dead? 

Ruth. I don't know; I just feel it. 

Mrs. H. But how could he live with the knowledge that I must be- 
lieve himi to be dead, and continue to deny me a word or a sign? 

Ruth. I don't ask myself how: I simply feel that he is living. We 
can't figure things out in this world. Plenty of true stories 
have been scoffed at, and false ones believed. Every day the 
impossible is being proved possible. And these souls of ours 
that sense things, independently of reason, are the biggest mys- 
tery of all to us. 

(Enter Billy, R, and crosses to Ruth) 

Billy, Well, mom, have you scolded her for what she did? 

Mrs. H. We have been discussing various matters, Willie. 

Billy. (Seriously) I'll bet I know one you haven't discussed. {To 

Ruth) You've done it now, Miss. You've sent Bob Vale away 

for good, if I know anything about him. 

Ruth. (Affecting indifference, but not very successfully) You are 

talking Greek to me, sonny. 
Billy. Well, get out your "key" and I'll try to translate it for you. 

40 



First of all I want to know if Amos has told you anything about 
Bob's affairs of late? 

Ruth. You talk like a lawyer, and so I don't yet understand you. 
But as for Bob Vale's affairs, I must say I've never known very 
much about them, at any time. 

Billy. You haven't answered my question yet. 

Ruth. But I can — easily. No; Amos Leader and I don't discuss 
things like this. We usually talk books. Amos may be awk- 
ward but he is well-read. 

Billy. Rats. The way you fiddle around with him makes me sick, 
Ruth. You're putting your foot in it, I tell you. Your monkey 
business to-night, for instance, has made a line mess of things. 
Bob came here to tell you several mighty important little 
secrets, and you go and scare him away — for good — by your 
crazy — er — er — Amosing. 

Mrs. H. (Smiling) Maybe there is something in what the boy says, 
Ruth. 

Billy. Humph ! You talk of me, mom, as though I was an intelligent 
cat or something. I tell you I know. 

Ruth. All sounds like guess-work to me. It is too vague. What I 
; did to Bob Vale I did with my eyes open, and I'm — I'm not 
afraid of the consequences. 

Billy. (Reflectively) The trouble with girls, when they get sore, is 
that they harden up. They have no heart. Why, if you had, 
you'd stop playing with Leader the way you do. Don't you 
suppose he's human, the same as the rest of us? 

Ruth. (Somewhat taken back) Who is playing with him? 

Billy. You are, and you know it; but you don't like thinking about 
it, so you kid yourself that it isn't true. 

Mrs. H. (Repressing a smile) For a boy of sixteen, Willie, you are 
horribly wise. ' 

Ruth. And imaginative. 

Billy. (Ignoring these irrelevant words) You want me to get down 
to brass tacks, eh? Well, I promised Bob I wouldn't, but he 
took unfair advantage of me, and I reckon the time has come 
for me to speak. Ruth, he came here to-night to tell you he's 
about to wind up his business and go away. 

Ruth. (Rather alarmed but splendidly hypocritical) Really? 

Billy. And truly. And while he was here he discovered that Amos 
Leader, who somehow knows about the doings, is talking around 
about it. Amos told Tom Waring about it, right here this 
afternoon. Tom mentioned it to Bob, thinking the news was 
public property. Then, I know right well. Bob jumped at the 

41 



conclusion that Amos had told you, too; and you see how that 
makes things look? 

Mrs. H. (With the stupidity of mothers) Do you mean, Willie, that 
Robert would ever suspect Ruth of losing interest in him be- 
cause of a reverse of fortune? 

Billy. You've pretty near guessed it, I'm betting. You see, mom, 
Bob has been to blame, in a way. He's been mighty free with 
his money since Ruth began using him mean. A fellow has to 
have something to keep him alive, you know. 

Ruth. (Laughing unnaturally) William Hubbel, I'm thinking you 
are going to develop into a genius of some kind. You will 
probably be a novelist when you grow up. You have such a 
way of knitting things together. 

Billy. (Offended) Well, I've told you; and now you can run your 
own show. (Getting half angry) I don't care what you do. 
(Crosses R) I've done my duty. (Exit R) . 

(Telephone rings) 

Ruth. You answer it, mother. And if it's Bob Vale, — I'm out. I 
want to think things over before seeing him. 

Mrs. H. (Crosses to phone and takes off receiver) Hello. Oh, it's 
you, Miriam. Yes, she's here. Where? All right. (To Ruth) 
She phoned from the corner drug store to find if you were in. 
She'll be right over. . . . Ruth dear, I hope you'll think about 
what Willie has just said. He's a mighty sensible boy, let me 
tell you. (Crosses and exit R) 

Ruth. (Rises and paces floor. Soliloquizes) Oh, I feel such a conflict 
of emotions this afternoon ! Something strange seems to be 
going on in my soul. I wonder what it means? Why do I feel 
this way about Joe, for instance? And why have I that same 
dull ache that came with the first significant glance from Bob? 
(Sits down again and stares into space) 

(Doorbell rings. Enter Miriam unannounced) 

Miriam. (Face flushed with excitement — restrained) Hello there. 
(Crosses to Ruth and kisses her) 

Ruth. Bless your heart, I'm glad to see you again. You couldn't have 
come at a better time. I'm simply hungry for you, Miriam. 
Where have you been? 

Miriam. Away for a short holiday. I see Bob's just off on his — 
suppose you'll be following him? 

Ruth. Bob Vale? Off on his holidays? 
Miriam. (Smiling) Don't tell me you didn't know it. 
Ruth. (Troubled) Miriam, are you teasing me? 
Miriam. (Realizing Ruth is serious) Indeed I'm not. I met him in 
front of the drug store, just a few minutes ago. He said he 

42 



was going out of town for a holiday. But now that I think 
of it, he didn't look particularly happy. {A pause) What's 
happened, Ruth? 

Ruth. (Doing her best to keep back the tears) We've quarreled. 

Miriam. (Putting an arm around her) It will be all right, dear. 
Don't worry about Bob. He'll come back — soon enough. 

Ruth. (Sadly) I'm not so sure of that. 

Miriam, Ruth, have you ever thought what I've endured? 

Ruth. Miriam, you're the most wonderful girl in the world. I wish 
I could be like you. I want to be. Sometimes I feel that there 
is no happiness for me in marriage. I seem not to be cut out 
for it. 

Miriam. (Sighing) Oh, and haven't I felt that way too! But, dear, 
we don't know. (Peculiarly) Strange things happen to us, 
often when we least expect them. 

Ruth. (Noting her peculiar tone and seeing the feverish light in 
her eyes) I feel as though you're trying to tell me something, 
and can't quite do it. The feeling is in harmony with others I 
have had this afternoon. 

Miriam. If you and I did not understand each other so well, Ruth, I 
don't know how ever I should have brought the message I bear 
to-day. Yes, you have read my mind. And it will take the 
two of us to infoiTti your mother. 

Ruth. It's about Joe — I know it! 

Miriam. (Holding back the tears) He's alive. He's coming home. 
(Mechanically draws letter from her bosom.) 

Ruth. (Taking letter from Miriam's hand and seeing postmark) 
Australia ! 

CURTAIN 



43 



ACT THREE 

(Scene. Same as Acts I and II. Three months later. Early 
in the evening. The door on R is closed. 

Joe Hubbel, Ruth, Billy, and Miriam Famham sit in earnest, 
nervous conversation. 

Joe is much changed. He is thin and has lost much of his old 
gaiety. Hangs on to his cap, as though expecting to need it at 
any moment.) 

Joe. (To Ruth. Deeply concerned but not alarmed) Are you quite 
sure they can't bounce in on us, Ruth? 

Ruth. Positive. We've locked the door and they'll have to ring the 
bell. 

Joe. (Looking about the room) It seems that I have been away from 
this room for a century. {Looking from one to the other of 
the compcmy) To think there has been so little change here, 
and yet so much in myself! 

Miriam. You will notice a great change in your father — your mother 
too, maybe. 

Joe. (Pensively) It all seems like a dream, or a bit of magic. 

Billy. (Soberly) What you've told us certainly does. {Looking at 
the cap in his brother's hand) Why do you keep hanging on to 
that cap? 

Ruth. Give it to me. I feel as though you are going away again. 

Joe. (Smiling) Force of habit. I'll tell you some time where I got it. 
Believe me, the adventures I related at supper were but a 
small part of what's happened to me. {Hands Ruth the cap) 
Keep it handy, in case they come in. It wouldn't do to let them 
see me without some preparation. When the bell rings I'll scoot 
out the other way. 

Ruth. No, you needn't — you mustn't. You and Billy can hide in his 
room. It has to be done sometime, and with Miriam to help us 
it can be carried off now as well as later. 

Joe. I suppose that's right. I guess it's I who dread the ordeal. 
. . . Great heaven! what an unfortunate blunderer I've been! 
What poor mother must have suffered. 

Ruth. And father. 

Joe. Yes, no doubt. I keep thinking that dad is the same man I left. 
Poor old chap! {Brief pause) Doesn't it all seem like a mira- 
cle of some sort? 

44 



Ruth. Maybe it was. Perhaps Providence rules these things for our 
good. 

Joe. Indeed, Ruth, that's right. Many a time, on the sea and in 
strange lands, when I faced death at the hands of men and 
among the elements, I wondered if there wasn't a Hand guid- 
^ ing me for a purpose. Once or twice I thought it was all over 
with me; but most of the time I felt that I should see you all 
again — and here I am. 

Billy. (Boyishly) Tell us some more of your experiences, Joe. 

Joe. There are lots of days ahead of us for that, Billy. If dear old 
dad still feels the same about educating me, I'm going to let him 
send me to college. Education seemed foolish, almost girlish, 
to me two years ago — I should say, away back there in that 
other existence; but I'll tell you I see the need of it now. This 
world is no place for an ignorant man. 

(The doorbell rings. Joe jumps up) 

Ruth. (To Billy) Will, take him into the room with you and don't 
let him run away again. {Crosses L to door) 

Billy. Trust me. We'll go the back way. 

(Exeunt Billy and Joe, R) 

Miriam. Whatever you do, Ruth, tell the story in a confident tone. 

Ruth. Never fear— but be ready to help me out. {Opens door R) 
Hello there; back already? 

(Enter Hubbel and Mrs. Hubbel) 

Mrs. H. (Crossing to Miriam) Yes. Pa wanted to stay and hear 
the young folks sing, but I thought we'd better leave them alone; 
they were coupled off so nicely. 

Hubbel. (Crossing to Exit R, halts a moment and says) A fine 
family and very talented. I enjoyed their company. {Exit R) 

Ruth. Did he hear any of their music at all? 

Mrs. H, (Smiling) Yes. A pretty little Irish song brought tears to 
his eyes. It must have been the memories of that fatal party of 
ours. {Sits down and sighs.) 

(Miriam and Ruth draw around her and seat themselves) 

Ruth. Somehow, I have loved father more than ever the past while. 

Mrs. H. All of us have. No one knows the battles he has fought with 
himself, and the victories he has won. 

Miriam. Everybody has always spoken well of him. 

Mrs. H. He has always been respected, — yes. But it is better to be 
loved, also. Since Joe {a pause) died, pa has made more true 
friends than he ever did in all his life before, I believe. 

45 



Miriam. (As if by inspiration) Mrs. Hubbel, your speaking so na- 
turally and resignedly of Joe's death makes me think that per- 
haps Mr. Hubbel has received help from other sources than 
heaven or misfortune. 

Mrs. H. I could pretend not to understand your meaning, Miriam dear, 
but I prefer to rebuke you for flattery. 

Miriam. You remind me of a character Ruth and I were reading about 
I only the other day in a magazine. {Giving Ruth a significant 
look) Ruth, you tell the story; it certainly will interest your 
mother. 

Ruth. Would you like to hear it, mamma? 

Mrs. H. Yes, indeed. You might get me that darning basket, first 
though. 

(Ruth crosses toward bookcase and gets basket) 

Ruth. You've got the magazine at home, haven't you, Miriam? 

Miriam. I don't believe I have. Anyway, your telling it will be as 
good as for your mother to read it. 

Ruth. (Sitting down and pushing darning basket over to her mother) 
Thanks . . . Well, here goes . . . There were two leading charac- 
ters in it, mamma; a widowed mother and her son. The boy 
was of a venturesome nature. The town they lived in didn't 
satisfy his yearnings. He longed to roam about the big world 
a while, see its sights, hear its sounds and feel its greatness. 
But the mother, naturally, kept begging of him not to go. She 
didn't need him to support her, as she had some money and 
property; but she did need his love and presence. 

Time dragged along, and the boy got into bad company. By 
accident, or what seemed like an accident, he fell in with a rowdy 
companion. The latter had procured, by some means, a railway 
pass for two, from a point in the Western States to a city in 
Western Canada. And he was just about to use it the night 
"Ned" — the name of the widow's son — ^bumped into him. 

Miriam. It was a case of "bumping into" him, too,^ — literally. Ned 
was hurrying along the street, angry and excited, when he ran 
against the stranger and knocked him down. They almost came 
to blows over it, but when Ned apologized the other shook hands 
with him; then they chatted a while, the stranger showed Ned 
the railway pass, Ned reciprocated with a confidence — . But 
excuse me, Ruth, I am taking the story out of your mouth. • 

Ruth. (Meaningly) That's right — help me out. I need you ... It 
seems that Ned had gotten into some kind of trouble, and he told 
the stranger about it. The latter immediately invited him to 
share the railway pass, assuring him that it would be a pleasant 
trip and that if he didn't like Canada he could easily beat his 
way back. Well, — ^to shorten the story a little — Ned's love of 
adventure overcame everv other consideration, and he im- 
'46 



pulsively accepted the stranger's invitation. He did not have 
time to even telephone his mother, but boarded the train with 
his unknown companion, promising himself that he would write 
a letter on board, telling his mother not to worry, and promising 
to return as soon as he had "shaken himself" a little. 

Next morning he did write the letter, but not having a stamp 
entrusted it to his companion, who v/ent into another coach and 
came back saying he had mailed it with the news agent. 

When they reached the Canadian border Ned found everybody 
in a state of strange excitement. War had been declared be- 
tween Great Britain and Germany. 

Then something strange happened. Ned's companion was 
found to be an Austrian spy. Papers were found upon him, 
absolutely convicting him. And of course his companion, Ned, 
was also suspected. 

The two of them were interned in Winnipeg, though not to- 
gether, and Ned languished for months in a prison yard, among 
other prisoners. 

No matter what he told the authorities they only laughed at 
him; for so bitter had become the hatred of man against man 
and nation against nation, that the very foundations of society 
seemed to totter; and the honor of man no longer existed. 

Miriam. Ned, by the way, didn't see his train companion again. 

Ruth. No. And I'm thinking it was lucky for that individual. 

Mrs. H. (Pensively) The poor mother! 

Ruth. Time drifted on, and Ned tried to court the favor of his keep- 
ers. But they were rough men, with the lust of blood now in 
their hearts and filth on their tongues. He begged of them to 
listen to his story, but they only laughed at him. Finally he 
grew bitter against them and yearned for revenge. Later, see- 
ing the futility of this, he decided on cunning. He asked them 
to let him enlist in their own forces, and agreed to have no 
communication with the outside world, if only they would take 
him out of that loathsome guard house. 

Eventually he met an officer who favorably considered this en- 
treaty; and he was almost encouraged to repeat his story to 
this man. But remembering the incredulity of others, and 
realizing that circumstances were surely against him, he de- 
cided to ask for a small concession at first, and trust to luck to 
bring him others. 

He succeeded in getting into the ranks, by recommendation 
of the officer beforementioned, but knew they were closely 
watching him, and was careful to do nothing that would look 
in the least suspicious. He never even intimated that he would 
like to send a message to anyone; but endeavored to cultivate 
the goodwill of his comrades and the confidence of his officers. 

In time he realized that they were holding him in the ranks 
for a purpose. Being, as they supposed, a Prussian or Austrian 
spy, he would prove of service to them, under surveillance, at 

47 



the front. Then, too, as had often happened, he might really 
espouse the cause of the Allies, for money or other considera- 
tions. 

Miriam. War, it seems, is not so honorable, patriotic and glorious a 
thing as it is frequently pictured. 

Mrs. H, (Shaking her head) Ah, indeed! 

Ruth. Anyway, they trained him at Winnipeg and later at Valcartier, 
Quebec; and he sailed, early in the war, for Flanders. 

He saw active service there, still under close surveillance and 
unable to get a line of writing past the censor — as a matter of 
fact he was too wise to even try; seeing his comrades, many of 
whom he had come to like, murdered around him; longing and 
praying for his poor old mother at home; wondering, at times, 
if there were a God at all; when suddenly, one day, there came 
an order to his company to sail for Egypt. 

(Mrs. H. puts down her work here, as she does at intervals 
throughout the story.) 

He was glad to get away from the slaughter. But there 
were other things that tried him: the profanity and immorality 
of the men, for one thing. 

Miriam. Vulgarity and brutality are the commonest things about war. 

Ruth. But even at sea, he witnessed the murdering of men. A sub- 
marine sunk a French torpedo boat almost under the bow of his 
ship, upon one occasion; and at another time, in the middle of 
the night, he heard the screams that told of devil's work near 

by. 

Mrs. H. I have often wondered how it is men do not lose their reason 
under such circumstances as these. 

Miriam. Instead of that, many of them become hardened to it. Pos- 
sibly if they let themselves go they would do as you say; and 
the hardening process may be a natural safeguard, in most 
cases. 

Ruth. You have stolen this from the story, Miriam, I'm afraid . . . 
Ned tells of the way he forced himself to endure the strain. At 
last he began living in a sort of daze, as though drugged — 
drugged with sorrow, you might say. He ate and drank and 
slept mechanically. Nothing was real to him. 

And in this state of mind he lived for a year in Egypt. The 
remoteness of this strange land from his native soil, the un- 
familiarity of scene and of people, added to his illusion of un- 
reality. He almost convinced himself that he was having a wild 
dream, and would waken, at last, to find himself back here in 
his little room — 

Miriam. (Alarmed) Hem! — American home — 

Ruth. (Catching herself) — With his mother. 

48 



Mrs. H. Do such things really happen, I wonder? 

Miriam. Stranger things than that, Mrs. Hubbel. We even read of 
them in the histories. 

Ruth. Yes, And when the history of The World War of 1914 is told 
in fiction — fiction which is fact — and humanity is able to fix 
its eye upon individual cases, we will begin to realize what a 
stupendous foi-ce it has been in the molding of human thought 
and action for the ages to come. . . . But to finish my story. . . . 
Ned conducted himself in such a way, while in Egypt, that his 
officers began to trust him; and although he did not yet con- 
sider it safe to attempt the transmission of a message, he de- 
termined to watch his chance to either do so or desert. 

There are many deserters in war, it seems — far more than we 
read about. It is considered such an unheroic thing to desert. 

Miriam. Yet is it unheroic? When young men are wheedled into the 
vile business, only to find out for themselves that everything 
has been misrepresented, why is it more cowardly for them to 
renounce it than for the fool to forsake his folly? Sinners look 
upon the converted as cowards. 

Mrs. H. Very true. War promoters are sin promoters. 

Ruth. Ned was very careful. He realized that if they found him 
doing anything of a suspicious nature, his case would be much 
worse than it had been away back in Canada. So he patiently 
planned every move. 

He saw no active service here in Egypt, and there was not 
the same vigilance as there had been in Belgium. His chance 
was slow in coming, but eventually it came — and Ned deserted. 

He caught a ship for New Zealand. It might have been for 
America or Java, but it happened to be for Auckland. Anyway, 
he took it, and was glad of the chance. 

Being obliged to save what money he had, he worked as a 
common seaman for this voyage; then he bought a ticket to 
Sydney, Australia, where he wrote a letter home. But he sent 
it to his sweetheart instead of his mother. 

Miriam. Are you sure it was his sweetheart? 

Ruth. (Smiling) Yes, — don't interrupt . . . He was afraid to write 
his mother direct; he thought it wiser to send his message to 
the girl and let her break the news gently. 

Mrs. H. That was unnecessary precaution, it seems to me. I don't 
think mothers are often killed with joy. 

Miriam. (Quickly) But just think, Mrs. Hubbel — her boy had been 
dead to her for many months. The surprise of knowing he still 
lived might prove too much for her. 

Mrs. H. Would to God that / could suffer such a surprise. 

49 



Ruth. But, mother, whenever I have hinted that Joe might possibly 
be alive, you have almost inferred that such a discovery would 
be unwelcome — because of the neglect it would imply. 

Mrs. H. No, you have misunderstood me; dear. A mother forgives 
everything and her love never fails. I have never allowed my- 
self to hope, that is all. I know that my son would never have 
neglected me for two years. 

Miriam. Unless some such calamity befell him as that which happened 
to this fellow Ned. 

Mr. H. Yes, of course. But such things are confined to fiction, I 
fear. 

Ruth. Oh, mother, I'm disappointed in you! I thought you possessed 
imagination, and faith in much that is commonly considered un- 
believable . . . But let me finish my story . . . Ned was obliged 
to work for two months in Australia, then, to earn his passage 
home. On the last mail before he sailed he wrote his sweet- 
heart another letter, urging her to prepare the way for his re- 
turn. He had heard from her in the meantime, telling him that 
all was well with his mother, and this gave him heart for the 
tiresome trip. But when he finally arrived in the town where 
he had been born and was met by his sister and his — 

Mrs. H. His sister? Why, you didn't tell me he had a sister? 

Miriam. (Peculiarly) Doesn't the story sound somehow strange to you, 
Mrs. Hubbel? 

(A pause and the exchange of puzzled and puzzling looks) 

Ruth. (Impressively) Mamma dear, hasn't it occurred to you that 
we've been trying to tell you something — something wonderful? 

Mrs. H. (Dropping her head in her palm) Ruth, dear, I feel so 
strange — 

Miriam. It is your sorrow leaving. . . . Now I have given you his mes- 
sage — at last — Ned's message. 

Ruth. (Softly) Joe's message. 

Mrs. H. (Semi-hysterically) Oh, I can't believe it! I can't believe 
it! 

Ruth. (Taking her mother's hands lovingly) Yet it is true, dear. 
And he is here — right here. 

Mrs. H. O God I thank thee! Forgive my unbelief and help me to be 
worthy of thy love! (Boivs her head as if in prayer) 

Ruth. (Crosses quickly to Exit R and softly calls) Joe! 

Mrs. H. Lifts her head, stands up and faces R, waiting for him) 

(Enter Joe, followed by Billy. Not a word is spoken. Joe 
rushes into his mother's arms. The others stand looking on in 
awe a moment, then quietly go out R) 

50 



Joe. (After leading his mother to a chair and sitting on stool at her 
feet) I am so glad it is over, mom. 

Mrs. H. (Calmly) That is because you are young, dear. Such a 
moment as this comes only once in a mother's life, and she is not 
glad to see it over. 

Joe. (Faintly smiling) But you know what I mean . . . Oh, but it's 
wonderful to be home again! . . . Dad, — where's he? 

Mrs. H. Let me get used to you a moment first. I shall have to pre- 
pare him as Ruth and Miriam did me. But I can not do it until 
I realize that you are really alive. 

Joe. Did the girls tell you some of the things that have happened to 
me? 

Mrs. H. They told me a story about one Ned, who was imprisoned, 
who fought in battle, sailed the great deep and wandered around 
the whole world, — Joseph, my boy, is it possible that even a 
small part of this adventure befell you'! 

Joe. (Pensively) Much more than they told you, I'm afraid. We don't 
realize what the world is in this quiet town, mom. I'll tell you 
it is a terrible place; a place that man has polluted and cursed 
— Ah! I can't say what I feel. 

Mrs. H. How my dear child must have suffered. 

(The figure of Hubbel appears in door R. He stands there 
gazing upon mother and son; very calm and sober, as though 
seeing a vision) 

Joe. How our Savior must have suffered! Do you know, mom, I have 
often thought of him, as I lay in filthy places among filthy men, 
trying in vain to sleep. He saw deeper into the lives of the 
human family than you or I can; and though his heart was 
made to ache, he loved and forgave. 

Hubbel. (Moving toward mother and son) "Though his heart was 
made to ache, he loved and forgave." 

Joe. (Startled; rises and faces his father) It is father! 

(Hubbel advances toward Joe, very calmly, with extended hand) 

Mrs. H. (Alarmed) Thomas, what is the matter! 

(Father and son clasp hands) 

Hubbel. (Still holding Joe's hand) Don't be alarmed, Mary. I knew 
my son was here. 

Joe. You knew it? Who told you, dad? 

Mrs. H. Have Ruth and Miriam been interviewing you too? If so, 
they've done their work well. 

(All three sit down) 
51 



HuBBEL. I was lying down on the couch, trying not to go to sleep, 
when, as if by some divine magic, I was swept off the earth 
and enabled to look down upon it. I can not describe the ex- 
perience by comparison with others, for I never had such an- 
other. But anyway, I seemed to see the whole world stretched 
out under me — I could even locate the European battlefields, by 
the glare above them. I gazed at this mystery a while, won- 
dering what it would develop into, until by some psychological 
process, I suppose you would call it, my mind was fixed upon 
Australia; and the knowledge came into my being that Joseph 
was or had been there. I entered this room vaguely under the 
impression that he was on his way from Australia to America; 
but when I saw him here I was not surprised. His presence 
somehow completed the vision — or whatever you call it. That 
is as nearly as I can describe it. 

Mrs. H. (Philosophically) I used to think life was a fairly simple 
matter and that all we needed was a little common sense. 

HUBBEL. (Humbly) And I used to think it was but the execution of 
a stern command. 

Joe. To me it used to mean nothing at all — except, perhaps, the little 
daily pleasures. 

Mrs. H. I left God out of my philosophy. 

HuBBEL. And I left man out. 

Joe. And I, both. I thought only of myself. (Pause) While we're 
here alone, dad and mother, I want to ask your forgiveness for 
what I did. I'll tell you all the ins and outs of my adventures 
later; just now all any of us need is the knowledge that it has 
ended well. 

HuBBEL. It is I who should ask forgiveness of you, my boy. 

Joe. Then let us both ask pardon of the one who has been injured 
most. ( Takes his mother's hand) 

HuBBEL. Well said, Joseph. 

Mrs. H. (Momentarily overcome, then smiling) You two silly boys. 

(Enter Billy, R, whistling. Crosses to phone and calls a number.) 

Joe. Hasn't that scamp grown? 

HuBBEL. He's a lad. When you get acquainted with him, Joseph, 
you'll find he's very much like his mother. 

Billy. (Phoning) Oh, you're there, are you? Well, stay there till 
I give you permission to leave. Do you get me? You what? 
Well, / should worry about that. Remember — if you break the 
rules, the game is spoiled. {Hangs up receiver and crosses to 
the group, R) 

Mrs. H. You sound like a member of the Black Hand Society, Willie. 
Billy. Maybe I am. Who knows? (Sits down) 

52 



HUBBEL. (Sociably) I suppose you've pumped your brother dry al- 
ready? 

Billy. No, but I hope to in time. He's some brother, isn't he? 

(Enter Ruth and Miriam) 

Joe. (Smiling) I suppose he has a girl already? 

Ruth. (Hearing the remark) Already? Why, Joe, he's got to the 
stage of giving all the rest of us advice. 

Billy. (Doggedly) You need it too. {Looks at his watch) Say, 
folks, I've got an idea. Do you remember the party you had 
two years ago — the night this guy beat it? 

Mrs. H. (Half rebukingly) No, we have all forgotten that. 

Billy. Well, I was sent to bed that night, simply because I was small 
for my age. What do you say if we have the same old gang 
up to-night — just for old time's sake? 

HUBBEL. Now isn't that a good suggestion! Son, I'm with you — as 
the slangy young rascals say nowadays. It will make us feel, 
ma, as if there had been no break in our lives. 

(Ruth seems decidedly unenthusiastic about it; is staring 
absently into space.) 

Mrs. H. (Aside to Hubbel) See how Ruth is taking it. She has not 
heard from Robert since he went away. 

Billy. (Impishly) What's the matter with Ruth? You're not going 
to spoil it just because one member will be missing, are you? 

Ruth. (Unable now to disfavor the project) Of course not, Billy. 
I think it would be nice. May we, mamma? 

Mrs. H. (Deceived) Of course, dear, if you want to. 

Billy. Good. I'll camp on that telephone right now. {C7'osses to 
phone. Hesitates) No, I guess I'll go down to the drug-store, 
I may want to say a few words to my lady-love, and this is no 
place for privacy. {Crosses and exit L) 

Miriam. (To Joe) That's an old trick of Billy's. 

Ruth. Ever since I caught him at it, he announces such events be- 
forehand. There is no way of getting the best of that boy. 
{Aside to her father) Dad, mother and I want you to follow us 
to the kitchen. {Various winks and signs having Miriam and 
Joe for their object finally enlighten the old gentle7nan) 

(Exeunt Hubbel, Mrs. Hubbel and Ruth, R) 

JOE. You and Ruth must have done some noble story telling, judging 
by results. 

Miriam. Ruth did. 

53 



Joe. Like dad, I'm having some sort of vision, it seems. I can't quite 
believe that you are real, Miriam, and that 

Miriam. Excuse me — did you say your father's been having a vision? 

Joe. He fell asleep in there (Pointing toivwrd R) and saw me on my 
way from Australia to America. He didn't seem at all surprised 
to find me in this room when he wandered in. 

Miriam. How do you account for so strange a phenomenon? 

Joe. I can't. Possibly there is the hand of Providence in it. Hard 
to say. 

Miriam. You are so much more serious than the Joe Hubbel of two 
years ago. 

Joe. I have had sufficient to make me so. But I am not the only one 
who has changed. Father is a different man. 

Miriam. I used to think people did not alter their ways at his time of 
life. 

Joe. And especially their views. But they do, it seems. I think dad 
and I are going to be chums from now on. 

Miriam. That's the way it should be. 

Joe. (Pensively) I said that others had changed. I was not thinking 
of mother, Miriam, — and you. 

Miriam. (Dropping her eyes) How about Ruth? Don't you see a 
difference in her? 

Joe. Yes, but I can't define it. I fully expected to find her married 
when I returned — if I ever did return. On the long voyage 
upon the Pacific I often pictured myself playing with a little 
nephew that looked like Ruth. 

Miriam. I suppose you have no idea what has prevented her marriage? 

Joe. Billy told me something about it in the room there, but he seems 
to think it will all work out. Bob is making good again, Billy 
says, up in Coin City. 

Miriam. Then why doesn't he come back and be reasonable? 

Joe. I'll go after him myself, one of these days. I caused all the 
trouble — Fate and I — and will do my part toward a readjust- 
ment. 

Miriam. I hope you will, Joe. Ruth is not happy. {In a changed 
tone) You have been doing a lot of reading, haven't you? I 
can tell by your language. 

Joe. Quite a bit. My, there is a lot in the world to learn! I just be- 
gan to find out while in Egypt. A long way to go for an eye- 
opener, eh? 

54 



Miriam. (A trifle wistfully) You seem a very long way off when you 
speak of those distant places. Don't you think you will get the 
wanderlust — again — sometime? 

Joe. (Taking her hand) If you only knew how thoroughly I am 
cured, and how few women there are in the world like you, 
Miriam, you'd not make such girlish remarks. 

(Enter Billy, L, noisily) 

Miriam. (Moving away from Joe, quickly) Well, did you succeed in 
getting everybody? 

Billy. (Disconsolately) All but the main one. 

Joe. Who do you mean — Bob Vale? 

Billy. (Greatly alarmed) No — what makes you say that? Bob Vale 
ain't coming, is he? (Asstimption of surprise.) 

Miriam. He means his girl, I suppose. 

Joe. (Smiling) Oh. 

Billy. I don't see why a girl's so afraid to come and see a fellow. No- 
body's going to bite her. 

Miriam. (Wickedly) Except, possibly, yourself. 

(Enter Ruth, R, and accosts Billy in mid-stage) 

Ruth. Well, what success? 

Billy. All coming, and tickled to death. Even Leader and his wife. 

Joe. You don't tell me Amos Leader is married? 

Miriam. Yes. One awful week he was seized with a dizziness of some 
sort and proposed to two young ladies, one of whom was your 
sister, and the other — well, you'll see her when she arrives. 

Billy. You'll get another shock in the form of Lill Waring. 

Joe. Lill Waring? Who's she? 

Ruth. Lillian Hope — you remember her? 

Joe. Oh sure; I do now. 

Billy. She surrendered Hope all right when she married Tom. 

Ruth. (Laughingly) Our brother is partial to puns. ... I guess I'll 
straighten this room up a bit. Miriam, go and amuse yourself 
at the piano. (Proceeds to tidy up room) 

Joe. a good idea. (Grinning) I'll go along and be your inspiration. 
(Exeunt Joe and Miriam, R, in conversation) 

Billy. ( Flops on a chair, disconsolately ; watches Ruth as she goes 
about the room. After a pause) Sis? 

Ruth. Yes? 

Billy. This is a punk world, isn't it? 

55 



Ruth. (Lightly) I infer that you called Somebody up to-night, Wil- 
liam. 

Billy. You infer right. But I wasn't thinking of myself. I was think- 
ing of you and — Bob Vale. 

Ruth. (Stops and looks at him scrutinizingly) I'm sorry I cause you 
such worry, brother. If you knew how little I cared, you'd sleep 
better. 

Billy. Oome now, sis, be honest — just this once. Away down in your 
shoes, when you take them off at night and sit on the edge of 
the bed thinking about things — don't you have a warm spot for 
that Indian? 

Ruth. (Laughing softly but somewhat hysterically) You are too 
foolish for anything. I can't even talk soberly, let alone sensibly, 
with you. 

Billy. You can't fool me, Ruth. You may put it over on the others. 
But I've had my eye peeled, and I know a thing or two. You 
I know I haven't been phoning that uncertain quantity of my 
own every night for weeks, without wising up a little bit. 

Ruth. (Studies him from a respectful distance) What with your 
slang and your childish notions, I fail to quite understand you. 

Billy. Well, I see I've got you interested, anyway, and that helps 
some. On the square, sis, wouldn't you like to get a nice fat 
letter from a certain city one of these days, asking your for- 
giveness and all that sort of thing? 

Ruth. (Coming closer to him) You don't need to think you are teas- 
ing me. Bill Hubbel, I'm a lot older than you. All the mail that 
( comes to this house passes through my hands. 

Billy. Some of it not only passes through but slips through. 

Ruth. (Haughtily) I wouldn't read a letter if it did come. 

Billy. (Making as if to rise and leave her) Very well. That's all 
I wanted to know. 

Ruth. (Detaining him. In honied tones) Aw now brother! Don't 
be mean. (Sweetly) Give it to me. 

Billy, (Grinning) I got you, sis, I got you! You do care for him 
after all! (Breaks away from her and runs out to kitchen, 
lanighing. Exit R) 

(The tears come into Ruth's eyes and she sits down in the 
chair Billy has left; she is humiliated and disappointed. The 
sound of a piano comes from the other room, and Ruth sits 
listening to it, wistful, dreaming. 

Enter Miriam, R, softly. The music is still heard. Miriam 
approaches Ruth from behind) 

Miriam. (Smiling sympathetically at her) Dreaming again! 

56 



Ruth. (Starting) Goodness! — you frightened me. 

Miriam. (Stands looking down at her) So you call this tidying up 
the room, do you? 

Ruth. (Hypocritically) I suppose you think I got rid of you on pur- 
pose? 

Miriam. You were thinking of my pleasure, not your own, when you 
suggested the piano. I know you well enough for that. 

Ruth. (Meeting her gaze steadily) Sit down; I want to tell you 
something. 

(Miriam sits down beside Ruth) 

Ruth. Do you remember the nights we used to talk the bachelor-girl 
stuff? 

(Miriam smiles and nods) 
Ruth. Castles in Spain. And now I shall have to build them alone. 
Miriam. I don't quite know what you mean. 

Ruth. Oh, yes you do. The wanderer's return has isolated me. . . . 
Do you know, Miriam, I don't believe I'm going to be a very 
graceful bachelor-girl, either. I'm afraid I'm not the intellec- 
tual type. You would stand it much better than I. 

Miriam. What makes you so pessimistic to-night? Have you had any 
unhappy presentiments? 

Ruth. Yes, in a way. They're with me now. 

Miriam. But they don't always come true. 

Ruth. Sometimes they do. Anyway, to-night I feel certain that 
everything is over between him and me. 

Miriam. Nonsense. It is the contrast between everybody else's happi- 
ness and your loneliness that is affecting you. You will have 
forgotten it all by morning, and then everything will work out 
all right. Does it seem reasonable that you, innocent of any 
selfishness or wrong in the troubles that have been ours for 
two years, should be the only one left in gloom? 

Ruth. It doesn't seem reasonable, as you say, — Fate is not always 
guided by reason, it appears. But on the other hand, it seems 
incredible that every last one of us should be made happy all 
at once, as if by a miracle. Besides, I am not "innocent of any 
selfishness or wrong," as you've said. Up to the time of Joe's 
disappearance I thought of little but nice clothes, a good time, 
and the presence of a man who has fallen from the pedestal on 
which I had placed him. For a while back, Miriam, I have been 
considering what dad used to say to us: That we were too much 
concerned with the pleasures of the world. It was a fact. 

Miriam. But if your father was in the right, why did so much misery 
result from his preaching? 

57 



Ruth, We all needed the lesson trouble has taught us, — father as 
well as the rest. He used to worry about our shortcomings in- 
stead of his own. He, too, was fond of the pleasures of his 
little world — which were: egotistic thought, self-satisfaction, 
love of argument and domination. 

Miriam. You seem to have thought the thing out well. 

Ruth. I have. I have thought more during the last year than I ever 
believed a girl could think in a lifetime. 

Miriam. And if you don't watch out, Ruth dear, you will go to the 
other extreme now. That is the way with human nature. It is 
hard for us to maintain a balance. 

Ruth. (Admiringly) You always say just the right thing, Miriam. 
You are thinking of Joe, now, aren't you? 

Miriam. Well, I confess that I had him in mind. If your father had 
used better judgment, had he been less extreme, Joe would not 
have tipped over two years ago. 

Ruth. Yet, it has all worked out well — except for me. 

Miriam. And you don't count! . . . However, even though it has, that 
doesn't justify Mr. Hubbel's extremism^ — lor yours. Things 
might have gone very differently. How many many homes have 
been wrecked through just such foolishness. 

Ruth. Do you think "my extremism," as you call it, will also result 
in disaster? 

Miriam. It might; there is no telling. If you keep on hardening 
your heart against Rob Vale and other pleasures of life, you 
may wai*p your nature until you and all about you are miserable. 

Ruth. You class him among the "pleasures of life." That's good. 
Just where he belongs. Instead of understanding my situation 
here, he went around like a lunatic, gambling, drinking and 
playing the madman. He had to have his entertainment, even 
though it took his last dollar — ^and even though he knew / was 
longing and waiting for the time to come when I could leave 
mother. 

Miriam. Well, Ruth, you and I and all the rest of womankind must 
make allowances for the men. Their natures are more tem- 
pestuous than ours. It seems they just have to boil over, at one 
time or another. . . . After all, what has Bob done? He has lead 
a clean life, I believe, in the deeper sense of the term. The 
cards and the swallowing of poisonous liquids have smeared 
him a little, no doubt; but it is not a stain that will not wash 
out. And remember this: it was his love for you, in the last 
analysis, that produced that restlessness which resulted in his 
foolishness. 

58 



Ruth. Oh, how is it that a man always has somebody to apologize for 
him! Miriam, it is not he who needs your sympathy, but /. 

{Her voice almost breaks) I'm miserable. ... I hate him. . . . 

He left me. . . . (Hides her face) 

Miriam. If I said a word against him you'd hate me, because you love 
him; and if you're a sensible girl you'll forgive him — when he 
comes. 

Ruth. (Face still hidden) But he won't come. 

(Doorbell rings) 

Miriam. Yes, he will. This may be him now — for all we know. 

{Rises and crosses L) 

(Ruth braces up) 

{Miriam, opening door) Hello, Mrs. Leader and Mr. Leader. 

We were expecting you. 

(Enter Amos Leader and Miss Crane, now man and wife. In 
an effort to bring himself up to date, Amos has sadly overdone 
it. So has Miss Crane. They are dressed "to kill" — and they 
do it, too. She has lost none of her aggressiveness) 

Mrs. L. Thank you. We lost no time getting here, Amie and I — did 
we, dear? 

Amos. (Meekly) No, love. 

(The Leaders cross R, and Ruth meets them in mid-stage. 
She is apathetic. Amos looks as though he would like to press 
her hand, but his wife is keeping close watch on him.) 

Ruth. We are glad you came. Give me your things. {Takes their 
things and crosses R with them. Exit R) 

(Miriam crosses to phone and telephones some party) 

Mrs. L. Keep your eyes and ears open to-night and we may find out 
something worth while. 

Amos. Yes, Forgetmenot. 

Mrs. L. Now that young Joe is back, the air ought to be simply full 
of news. 

Amos. Yes, dear. 

Mrs. L. Try to show them how happy I have made you. And what- 
ever you do, when lunch is served, keep your knife out of your 
mouth. 

Amos. (Asserting his manhood) Pardon me, but I ate here before 

Mrs. L. (Stamping her foot) Amos! 

Amos. (Frightened) Forgive me, Forgetmenot. 

59 



(Enter Ruth and Joe, R, and cross to Leaders) 

(Miriam finishes phoning and joins the group) 

Joe. (Shaking hands with the Leaders) I'll tell you it seems good 
to see you again. 

Mrs. L. (Coquettishly) We thought you were dead! 

Amos. (Apologetically) That is, we — we 

Mrs. L. Amos! 

Amos. Yes, love. {Gives Ruth a languishing look) 

Miriam. (To Mrs. L) Won't you come in the room and fix your hair? 

Mrs. L. (Glancing from Amos to Ruth takes Ruth's arm) The three 
of us will go. 

(Ruth and Miriam amused, Mrs. L. doggedly, cross R and 
exeunt.) 

Amos. (In an awed whisper) She doesn't care to leave me alone with 
your sister. 

Joe. (Grinning) I imagine you are a little skittish, Amos. 

Amos. (Stealthily and fearfully takes a cigar from his vest pocket 
and shows it to Joe) Look at that! 

Joe. You haven't started to smoke, I hope? 

Amos, (Proudly) One every Saturday night. . . . (Gazing upon his 
own figure) And how do you like the suit? 

Joe. First rate. You're getting to be quite a swell. 

Amos. (Eagerly) Without fooling, though, Joe — ain't I a different 
man? 

Joe. (Becoming suddenly serious) You are, Amos — and yet I'm sorry 
to see it. You were serious before, whether biased or not; and 
I'll tell you, old boy, sincerity makes up for a whole lot of 
blundering. 

Amos. (More soberly) I reckon you've been around a good deal since 
I saw you last? 

Joe. Yes, I've been around the world — in more senses than one. And 
one of the things I've learned, Amos, is to have an object in 
life — a worthy one. Mine, for the past two years, every day 
and every hour of it, has been to get home, look into the eyes 
of those I love, and feel the joy of contentment once more. 
There is no other happiness worth while. The frothy pleasures 
that once appealed to me — pshaw! Amos, they are thinner than 
iair. To live among those who care for us and for whom we 
care, to know that the sun will rise to-morrow upon their smiles 
and ours: this, old friend, is true happiness; and if you possess 
it, I advise you to hang onto it — and you'll forget to worry about 
the cut of your clothes! 

60 



(Doorbell rings.) 

(Enter Ruth, R, followed by Miriam and Mrs. L.) 

Ruth. (Crossing L) This is probably Mr. and Mrs. Waring. 

Mrs. L. (Accosting Amos and Joe) Well, what have you two been 
talking about? 

(Enter Tom Waring and his wife, L. They look really pros- 
perous) 

Ruth. Hello Lillian — and Tom. It was good of you to come. 

Tom. (Airily) It's never hard to get us out to this house. {Gets his 
eye on Joe) Jump-ing Je-hos-i-phat! ! ! — have I gone nutty? 
Am I seeing things? {Rushes across tooth toward Joe) Joe 
Hubbel — that isn't you? 

Joe. (Laughingly) What there is left of me, Tom. How are you? 
{Shakes hands) 

LiLL. (Crossing quickly toward Joe) My, Joe, this is a surprise! 

Joe. Lillian : mighty glad to see you again. You're looking fine. 

Tom. (Boastfully) And why shouldn't she? Didn't I just buy her a 
new "Hackensack" last week? You can hear her horn almost 
any hour of the day — I mean night. 

Joe. Glad you have prospered, Tom. 

Tom. Well, I told them I would. Ask Billy. I came here three months 
ago without a nickel. And now I can write my check for sev- 
eral thousand. 

(Mrs. L. draws Amos aside and lectures him.) 

(Ruth and Miriam are conversing together) 

Joe. How did you do it? 

Tom. Real estate. There's been a boom on here, you know. Besides, 
I got hold of a Western Canada blueprint and these boobs in 
this town fell for it hard. 

Joe. (Musingly) Western Canada. 

Tom. Yes, — have you been there — on your travels? 

Joe. (Nods) And I suppose you're perfectly happy now, eh? 

Tom. (Drawing down corners of his mouth) Quit your kidding! 
This life may be all right for old folks and those who've got 
^ rheumatism; but me for the bright lights and the big noise. 
When we've cleaned up a few more thousand we'll beat it so 
fast, Lill and me, that we'll burn up the turf. I don't know 
how we've stood it as long as we have. 

Joe. Where do you think of going? 

Tom. Oh, New York, or Atlanta, or 'Frisco, or somewhere. 

61 



Joe. Sort of wander around from one city to another, I suppose? 

Tom. Sure. It's hard for me to vegetate in one place, you know. We 
want something stirring all the time, Lill and me. 

Joe. Don't you ever get tired of everything? 

Tom. Well, now you've said it, old man. Life's a tame old game, at 
best. . . . But say, tell us something about yourself. 

Joe. Another time I will. But the main thing that's happened to me 
is suffering — and it's made me happier. 

(Enter Billy and crosses to phone.) 

Billy. (At phone) Still there, are you? Well, I'll be over after you 
right away. {Hangs up receiver and crosses to Ruth: takes her 
aside) Get them all into the other room and then come back — 
alone. It's important. 

Ruth, (Becoming suspicious) What are you up to? 

Billy. Come on, sis, — please. Help me out. (In hoarse whisper) 
My girl's decided to come at last, but she's too bashful to face 
a room full of people. I want you to be here alone. 

Ruth. (Laughingly) All right. 

Billy. And listen. When you get them all out, come back here and 
shut the door. I'll go now and get her; I'll be right back — she's 
mighty close by. {Crosses and exit L) 

Ruth. (To the company) Let's all go into the music room for a while. 

(The company moves toward exit R) 

Tom. (Aside to Amos as they pass out) Joe seems to have got con- 
verted. He says he has suffered. 

Amos. (Glancing at his wife) I wish he had some of my suffering. 

Mrs. L. (Seeing her husband whispering) Amos! 

Amos. (Jerking his lips away from Tom's ear) Yes, Forgetmenot! 

(Exeunt all but Miriam and Ruth, who stand in the door- 
way a moment.) 

Ruth. You entertain them a few minutes — till I come. 

Miriam. (Understandingly) All right. 

Ruth. (Closes door behind her and crosses to mid-stage. Adjusts 
one or two things in room. As she stands waiting for Billy and 
his "girl" she soliloquizes thus) : He never seemed so far away 
from me as he does to-night. 

(A moment later the door is pushed open and ) 

(Enter Bob Vale, alone, silently.) 

(They face each other a moment, speechless. Bob is first 
to find words.) 

62 



Bob. (Solemnly) Ruth, it may be hard for you to believe; but I have 
not had the right to come to you, like this, until to-day. 

Ruth. (Half turning from him; breathing hard) I don't know yet 
why you have come. 

Bob. (Humbly) I deserve even a colder reception than this. Yes, I 
realize that, Ruth. I did not trust you as I should — you who 
have always trusted me. I squandered the money I should have 
saved for a home — our home, and played the fool to perfection. 
But all that is over now. I never did care for it, Ruth. It 
sickened me to the very heart. Yet I plunged into it, trying to 
forget my misery — .until my eyes were opened and I saw what 
a selfish brute I was. 

That Sunday I went off to Coin City, to find me a job and 
begin the battle over again, was the most miserable day in my 
whole life. I wouldn't go through it again for — for anything 
but you! But it was the beginning of a new and sane life for 
me, Ruth. Like other fools I had to learn the emptiness of 
folly, before giving it up. But now I have begun to succeed 
again — a far better fellow than I was before — though that isn't 
isaying much: and — and, Ruth, if you can forgive me and will 
take me as I am, I — I — {Comes to a halt, defeated by her 
silence.) 

Ruth. (Struggles with conflicting emotions, love predominating; tries 
to speak, but only succeeds in turning a little toward him.) 

Bob. (Half turns away, fumbles with his hat; then turns back to see 
if she is still adamant. Rebuffed at last) Forgive me for 
bothering you like this {Steps toward door) 

Ruth. (Impulsively extending anns) Bob! 

Bob. (Turns, hesitates, and rushes into her arms.) 

(Enter Billy, L, while Bob and Ruth embrace. Billy takes 
out his watch and proceeds to count them out as a referee does 
with prize-fighters) One — Two — Three — . 

(The offending pair become aware of his presence, and "break 
away." Billy stands grinning at them.) 

Billy. (Still grinning) You've got me to thank for this, you two, — 
me and the telephone; and I'll expect favors for it all my life! 
(Enter Hubbel, Mrs. Hubbel, Waring and wife. Leader and 
wife, Miriam and Joe; R) 
Hubbel. (Greeting Bob) Now, boys and girls, we're going to 
celebrate to-night; and we're going to start the ball rolling with 
a game of — of — {To Mrs. H.) — what do you call it, ma? 
Mrs. H. "Jacob and Rachel." (Crosses to Bob and shakes hands with 
him.) 

(While some of the company are clearing back the chairs, 
etc., for the game, others are greeting the late arrival, Bob 
Vale. Hubbel is the promoter of the proceedings.) 

63 



(Billy lingers on the outskirts of the doings, yawns and seems 
rather bored.) 

HuBBEL. All ready, everybody. Form in line. 

(They join hands all around — all except Billy, who eludes his 
father's eye.) 

Tom. I move that we make Mr. Hubbel "it." 

Miriam. I second the motion. 

(Miriam ties a handkerchief around his eyes, and drops back 
into the ring. But Hubbel, in the silence that precedes the begin- 
ning of the game, suddenly takes the kerchief off again, and 
standing in the center of the circle, smilingly addresses the com- 
pany.) 

Hubbel. Boys and girls, now that happiness has returned to this 
home, I find my old preaching habit coming back, and if I don't 
make a little speech I'll be discontented all evening. 

Tom. Hear, hear! 

Hubbel. When last your bright faces were in my house I was a crank, 
I an old idiot and several other things — including an unhappy 
mortal. I objected to everything outside of my own petty hob- 
bies, which, by the way, were more harmful than all the giddy 
laughter in this town. And I want to say to you now, boys 
and girls, that the trouble with me was this: {Emphatically) 

I HAD NOT ENOUGH CONSIDERATION FOR OTHERS. That man or 

woman is happy who tries to make others so; and xhere can be 
no true happiness without charity — charity of thought as well 
as action. Let us join hands then, and enjoy one of those inno- 
cent pleasures of life without which mankind would be narrow- 
minded, one-sided and sour. Let us join hands as a pledge to 
our love of youth and laughter, remembering that every other 
human being is in the game of Life, as well as we, and has his 
rights. If we do wrong, real wrong, it will affect him, as well 
as ourselves: therefore, if not for our own sake, at least for 
his sake let us do right. Let us always remember our fellows, 
then: let us join hands! 

(A clapping of hands ensues and they form a circle with 
Hubbel in the center. Laughter and happy voices.) 

Billy. (Takes his cap and moves L) Well, now that everything's all 
set, I guess) I'll go and see my girl! 

CURTAIN 



64 




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